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CLEG  KELLY 
ARAB  OF  THE  CITY 


BY   THE   SAME  AUTHOR, 
Uniform  Edition.     Each,  $1.50. 


Bog=Myrtle  and  Peat. 

"  Here  are  idylls,  epics,  dramas  of  human  life  writ- 
ten in  words  that  thrill  and  burn.  .  .  .  All  are  set 
down  in  words  that  are  fit,  chaste,  and  noble.  Each 
is  a  poem  that  has  the  immortal  flavor." — Boston 
Courier, 


The  Lilac  Sunbonnet. 

*'  A  love  story  pure  and  simple — one  of  the  old- 
fashioned,  wholesome,  sunshiny  kind,  with  a  pure- 
minded,  sound-hearted  hero  and  a  heroine  who  is 
merely  a  good  and  beautiful  woman  ;  and  if  any  other 
love  story  half  so  sweet  has  been  written  this  year  it 
has  escaped  our  notice." — New  York  Times, 


New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


From  the  lake  arose  the  voice,  mocking  and  bitter. 

(See  page  260.) 


CLEG    KELLY 

ARAB    OF   THE    CITY 

HIS   PROGRESS  AND   ADVENTURES 


BY 

S.    R.    CROCKETT 

AUTHOR    OF 
THE   LILAC    SUNBONNET,    BOG-MYRTLE    AND    PEAT,    ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW     YORK 

D.    APPLETON    AND     COMPANY 

1896 


Copyright,  1896,  1896, 
By  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 


cu 


ADVENTURE  PAGE 

I.— The  outcasting  of  Cleg  Kelly      ....      1 

II. — The  burning  of  the  Whinny  Knowes  ...      5 

III. — Why  Cleg  Kelly  hated  his  father     .        .        .13 

IV. — How  Isbel  Kelly  heard  sweet  music  .        .        .21 

V. — The  brigands  of  the  city 29 

-    VI. — Cleg  turns  burglar 38 

VII. — The  adventure  of  the  cockroaches      .        .        .45 

VIII. — The  flight  of  Sheemus 51 

IX. — The  warming  of  the  Drabble        .        .        .        .57 

X. — The  squaring  of  the  police 62 

XI. — The  boy  in  the  wooden  hut 68 

XII. — Vara  Kavannah  of  the  Tinklers'  Lands    .        .    72 

XIII. — Cleg's  second  burglary 80 

XIV. — Cleg  turns  diplomatist 86 

XV. — The  fire  in  Callendar's  yard       .        .        .        .94 

XVI. — In  the  key  of  boy  natural 101 

XVII.— The  Knuckle  Dusters 110 

XVIII. — Big  Smith  subdues  the  Knuckle  Dusters    .        .116 

XIX. — The  pilgrims  of  the  penny  gaff   ....  123 

XX. — The  difficulties  of  Adonis  betwixt  two  Venuses  129 

XXI. — An  idyll  of  Bogie  roll 139 

XXII. — The  seduction  of  a  bailie 143 

XXIII. — The  amorous  adventures  of  a  night-shift  man  .  147 

XXIV. — The  crook  in  the  lot  of  Cleaver's  boy       .        .  153 

XXV. — A  COMELY  Providence  in  a  new  frock  .        .        .  157 

XXVI.— R.  S.  V.  P 163 

XXVII. — Janet  of  Inverness  tastes  the  herb  bitter-sweet  167 
XXVIII. — The  engine-driver  with  the  beard       .        .        .  172 

▼ 


248943 


CLEG  KELLY,  AKAB  OF  THE  CITY. 


ADVENTUEE  I. 

THE  OUTCASTIKG  OF  CLEG  KELLY. 

."  It's  all  a  dumb  lie— God's  dead  1 " 

Such  a  silence  had  never  fallen  upon  the  Sunday 
school,  since  the  fatal  day  when  the  gate  was  blown  into 
the  middle  of  the  floor  by  Mickey  McGranaghan,  a  re- 
cent convert  (and  a  temporary  one)  to  the  peculiar  ortho- 
doxy of  Hunker  Court.  But  the  new  explosion  far  out- 
stripped the  old  in  its  effects.  For  it  contained  a  denial 
of  all  the  principles  upon  which  the  school  was  founded, 
and  especially  it  confounded  and  blasphemed  the  cheerful 
optimism  of  Mr.  James  Lugton,  its  superintendent,  other- 
wise and  more  intimately  known  as  "  Pund  o'  Cannles." 

The  statement  which  contained  so  emphatic  a  denial 
of  the  eternity  of  the  Trinity  was  made  by  Cleg  Kelly,  a 
barelegged  loon  of  eleven,  who  stood  lone  and  unfriended 
on  the  floor  before  the  superintendent's  desk  in  the 
gloomy  cellar  known  as  Hunker  Court  school.  Cleg 
Kelly  had  been  reported  by  his  teacher  for  incorrigible 
persistence  in  misconduct.  He  had  introduced  pins  point 
upwards  through  the  cracks  in  the  forms.  He  had  an 
instrument  of  wire  cunningly  plaited  about  his  fingers,  by 
means  of  which  he  could  nip  unsuspecting  boys  sitting  as 
many  as  three  or  four  from  him — which  is  a  great  advan- 


2  CLEG  KELLY;  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

fage  to'ii  bby  ill  ^'Stiti'iiay'school.  Lastly,  he  had  fallen 
backwards  over  a  seat  when  asked  a  question;  he  had 
stood  upon  his  hands  and  head  while  answering  it,  re- 
suming his  first  position  as  if  nothing  had  happened  so 
soon  as  the  examination  passed  on  to  the  next  boy.  In 
fact,  he  had  filled  the  cup  of  his  iniquities  to  the  brim. 

His  teacher  did  not  so  much  object  to  the  pranks  of 
Cleg  Kelly  himself.  He  objected  mainly  because,  being 
ragged,  barelegged,  with  garments  picturesquely  venti- 
lated, and  a  hat  without  a  crown,  he  was  as  irresistible  in 
charm  and  fascination  to  all  the  other  members  of  his 
class  as  if  he  had  been  arrayed  in  silver  armour  starry 
clear.  For  though  Hunker  Court  was  a  mission  school, 
it  was  quite  a  superior  mission.  And  (with  the  exception 
of  one  class,  which  was  much  looked  down  upon)  the 
lowest  class  of  children  were  not  encouraged  to  attend. 
Now  Cleg  Kelly,  by  parentage  and  character,  was  almost, 
if  not  quite,  as  the  mothers  of  the  next  social  grade  said, 
"  the  lowest  of  the  low." 

So  when  Cleg's  teacher,  a  respectable  young  journey- 
man plumber,  could  stand  no  more  pranks  and  had  grown 
tired  of  cufiing  and  pulling,  he  led  Cleg  up  to  the  awful 
desk  of  the  superintendent  from  which"  the  rebukes  and 
prizes  were  delivered. 

Thereupon  "  Pund  o'  Cannles,"  excellent  but  close- 
fisted  tallow  chandler  and  general  dealer,  proceeded  to 
rebuke  Cleg.  Now  the  rebukes  of  "  Pund  o'  Cannles  " 
smelt  of  the  counter,  and  were  delivered  in  the  tones  in 
which  he  addressed  his  apprentice  boys  when  there  were 
no  customers  in  the  shop — a  tone  which  was  entirely 
different  from  the  bland  suavity  which  he  used  when  he 
joined  his  hands  and  asked,  "  And  what  is  the  next  arti- 
cle, madam  ?  " 

"  Do  you  know,  boy,"  said  the  superintendent,  "  that 


^ 


THE  OUTCASTINa  OF  CLEG  KELLY.  3 

by  such  sinful  conduct  you  are  wilfully  going  on  the 
downward  road  ?  You  are  a  wicked  boy,  and  instead  of 
becoming  better  under  your  kind  teacher,  and  taking 
advantage  of  the  many  advantages  of  this  place  devoted 
to  religious  instruction,  you  stick  pins — brass  pins — into 
better  conducted  boys  than  yourself.  And  so,  if  you  do 
not  repent,  God  will  take  you  in  your  iniquity  and  cast 
you  into  hell.  For,  remember,  God  sees  everything  and 
punishes  the  bad  people  and  rewards  the  good." 

The  superintendent  uttered,  though  he  knew  it  not, 
the  most  ancient  of  heresies — that  which  Job  refuted. 

It  was  at  this  point  in  the  oration  of  "  Pund  0'  Can- 
nles "  that  Cleg  Kelly's  startling  interruption  occurred. 
The  culprit  stopped  making  O's  on  the  dusty  floor  with 
his  toe,  amongst  the  moist  paper  pellets  which  were  the 
favourite  distraction  of  the  inattentive  at  Hunker  Court ; 
and,  in  a  clear  voice,  which  thrilled  through  the  heart  of 
every  teacher  and  scholar  within  hearing,  he  uttered  his 
denial  of  the  eternity  of  the  Trinity. 

"  It's  all  a  dumb  lie — God's  dead ! "  he  said. 

There  was  a  long  moment's  silence,  and  small  won- 
der, as  the  school  waited  for  the  shivering  trump  of  doom 
to  split  the  firmament.  And  the  patient  and  self-sacrific- 
ing teachers  who  gave  their  unthanked  care  to  the  youth 
of  the  court  every  Sunday,  felt  their  breaths  come  short, 
and  experienced  a  feeling  as  if  they  were  falling  over  a 
precipice  in  a  dream.  At  last  Mr.  James  Lugton  found 
his  voice. 

"Young  and  wicked  blasphemer!"  he  said  sternly, 
"  your  presence  must  no  longer,  like  that  of  the  serpent 
in  Paradise,  poison  the  instruction  given  at  this  Sabbath 
school — I  shall  expel  you  from  our  midst " 

Here  Cleg's  teacher  interposed.  He  was  far  from 
disliking  his  scholar,  and  had  anticipated  no  such  result 


.-t^I^ 


4  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

arising  from  his  most  unfortunate  reference  of  his  diffi- 
culty to  the  superintendent.  For  he  liked  Cleg's  ready 
tongue,  and  was  amused  by  the  mongrel  dialect  of  Scots 
and  Irish  into  which,  in  moments  of  excitement,  he 
lapsed. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  "  but  I  am  quite  willing 
to  give  Kelly  another  chance — he  is  not  such  a  bad  boy 
as  you  might  think." 

The  superintendent  waved  his  hand  in  a  dignified 
way.  He  rather  fancied  himself  in  such  scenes,  and  con- 
sidered that  his  manner  was  quite  as  distinguished  as  that 
of  his  minister,  when  the  latter  was  preaching  his  last 
memorable  course  of  sermons  upon  the  imprecatory 
psalms,  and  making  solemn  applications  of  them  to  the 
fate  of  members  of  a  sister  denomination  which  wor- 
shipped just  over  the  way. 

"  The  boy  is  a  bold  blasphemer  and  atheist !"  he  said ; 
"  he  shall  be  cast  out  from  among  our  innocent  lambs. 
Charles  Kelly,  I  solemnly  expel  you  upon  this  Christian 
Sabbath  day,  as  a  wicked  and  incorrigible  boy,  and  a  dis- 
grace to  any  respectable  mission  school." 

The  attitude  of  the  superintendent  was  considered 
especially  fine  at  this  point.  And  he  went  home  person- 
ally convinced  that  the  excellent  and  fitting  manner  in 
which  he  vindicated  the  good  name  of  Hunker  Court 
upon  this  occasion,  was  quite  sufficient  to  balance  an  ex- 
tensive practice  of  the  use  of  light  weights  in  the  chand- 
ler's shop  at  the  corner  of  Hunker's  Kow.  He  further  en- 
tirely believed  judicious  severity  of  this  kind  to  be  accept- 
able in  the  highest  quarters. 

So  as  the  resisting  felon  is  taken  to  prison.  Cleg  Kelly, 
heathen  of  eleven  years,  was  haled  to  the  outer  door  and 
cast  forth  of  Hunker  Court.  But  as  the  culprit  went  he 
explained  his  position. 


C2^ 


THE  BURNING  OP  THE  WHINNY  KNOWES.  5 

"  It's  all  gammon,  that  about  prayin',"  he  cried  ;  "  I've 
tried  it  heaps  of  times — never  fetched  it  once  !  An'  look 
at  my  mother.  She  just  prays  lashings,  and  all  the  time. 
An'  me  father,  he's  never  a  bit  the  better — no,  nor  her 
neither.  For  he  thrashes  us  black  and  blue  when  he 
comes  hame  just  the  same.  Ye  canna  gammon  me,  Pund 
0'  Cannles,  with  your  lang  pray-prayin'  and  your  short 
weight.     I  tell  you  God's  dead,  and  it's  all  a  dumb  lie  !  " 

The  last  accents  of  the  terrible  renunciation  lingered 
upon  the  tainted  air  even  after  the  door  had  closed,  and 
Cleg  Kelly  was  an  outcast.  But  the  awed  silence  was 
broken  by  a  whiz  and  jingle  which  occurred  close  to  the 
superintendent's  ear,  as  Cleg  Kelly,  Iconoclast,  punc- 
tuated his  thesis  of  defiance  by  sending  a  rock  of  offence 
clear  through  the  fanlight  over  the  door  of  Hunker  Court 
mission  school. 


ADVENTURE   11. 

THE   BUE2fi:N^G   OF  THE   WHIK:N'Y   KNOWES. 

Cleg  Kelly  was  now  outcast  and  alien  from  the 
commonwealth.  He  had  denied  the  faith,  cast  aside 
every  known  creed,  and  defied  the  Deity  Himself.  Sono 
he  would  defy  the  policeman  and  break  the  laws  of  man 
— which  is  the  natural  course  of  progression  in  iniquity, 
as  every  one  knows. 

So  leaving  Hunker  Court  he  struck  across  the  most 
unfrequented  streets,  where  only  a  stray  urchin  (probably 
a  benighted  Episcopalian)  was  spending  the  Sabbath 
chivying  cats,  to  the  mountainous  regions  of  Craigside, 
where  the  tall  "  lands  "  of  St.  Leonards  look  out  upon  the 
quarried  crags  and  steep  hill  ridges  of  Arthur's  Seat. 


6  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

For  Cleg  was  fortunate  enough  to  be  a  town  boy  who  had 
the  country  at  his  command  just  over  the  wall — and  a 
wall,  too,  which  he  could  climb  at  as  many  as  twenty 
points.  Only  bare  stubby  feet,  however,  could  overpass 
these  perilous  clefts.  Cleg's  great  toes,  horny  as  if  shod 
with  iron,  fitted  exactly  into  the  stone  crevices  from 
which  the  mortar  had  been  loosened.  His  grimy  little 
fingers  found  a  purchase  in  the  slightest  nicks.  And 
once  on  the  other  side,  there  was  no  policeman,  park- 
keeper,  or  other  person  in  authority,  who  could  make  the 
pace  with  Cleg's  bare  brown  legs,  at  least  up  the  loose 
clatter  of  the  shingle  between  the  lower  greensward  and 
the  Eadical  Koad. 

So,  after  being  expelled  from  Hunker  Court,  Cleg 
made  straight  for  a  nook  of  his  own  among  the  crags. 
Here,  like  a  prudent  outlaw,  he  took  account  of  his  pos- 
sessions with  a  view  to  arranging  his  future  career  of 
crime.  He  turned  out  his  pockets  into  his  hat.  This 
was,  indeed,  a  curious  thing  to  do.  For  the  article  which 
he  wore  upon  his  shaggy  locks  was  now  little  more  than 
the  rim  of  what  had  once  been  a  covering  for  the  head, 
proof  against  wind  and  water.  But  though  Cleg's  treas- 
ures rested  upon  the  ground,  the  fact  that  they  were 
within  his  hat-rim  focussed  them,  as  it  were,  and  their 
relative  worth  was  the  more  easily  determined. 

The  first  article  which  Cleg  deposited  upon  the  ground 
inside  his  hat  was  a  box  of  matches,  which  had  been  given 
him  to  light  the  gas  with  in  the  outlying  corners  of 
Hunker  Court  school,  for  that  dank  cellar  was  gloomy 
enough  even  on  a  summer  afternoon.  Then  came  some 
string,  the  long-pronged  nipping-wires  which  he  had 
taken  from  his  father's  stores,  a  pair  of  pincers,  a  knife 
with  one  whole  and  one  broken  blade,  a  pipe,  some  brown- 
paper  tobacco  of  a  good  brand,  a  half-written  exercise- 


THE   BURNING  OF  THE  WHINNY  KNOWES.  7 

book  from  the  day-school  at  which  Cleg  occasionally 
looked  in,  five  marbles  of  a  variety  known  as  "  common- 
ies,"  one  noble  knuckler  of  alabaster  which  Cleg  would 
not  have  parted  with  for  his  life,  a  piece  of  dry  bread, 
and,  lastly,  half  an  apple,  with  encroaching  bays  and  pro- 
jecting promontories,  which  indicated  in  every  case  but 
one  the  gap  in  Cleg's  dental  formation  on  the  left  side  of 
his  upper  jaw,  which  dated  from  his  great  fight  with 
Hole  in  the  Wa'  in  the  police  yard.  The  exception  was  a 
clean  semicircle,  bitten  right  into  the  apple-core.  This 
was  the  'tidemark  of  a  friendly  bite  Cleg  had  given  to  a 
friend,  in  whose  double  row  were  no  gaps.  The  perfect 
crescent  had  been  made  by  the  teeth  of  a  lassie — one 
Vara  Kavannah. 

The  box  of  matches  was  to  its  owner  the  most  attract- 
ive article  in  all  this  array  of  wealth.  Cleg  looked  into 
his  hat-rim  with  manifest  pleasure.  He  slapped  his  knee. 
He  felt  that  he  was  indeed  well  adapted  to  the  profession 
of  outlaw.  If  he  had  to  be  a  Cain,  he  could  at  least  make 
it  exceedingly  lively  in  the  Land  of  Nod. 

It  was  a  chilly  day  on  the  craigs,  the  wind  blowing 
bask  from  the  East,  and  everything  underfoot  as  dry  as 
tinder.  The  wild  thought  of  a  yet  untried  ploy  surged 
up  in  Cleg's  mind.  He  grasped  the  matchbox  quickly, 
with  thoughts  of  arson  crystallising  in  his  mind.  He 
almost  wished  that  he  had  set  Hunker  Court  itself  on 
fire.  But  just  in  time  he  remembered  Vara  Kavannah 
and  her  little  brother  Hugh. 

"  I'll  get  them  to  gang  to  anither  school  first,"  he 
said. 

But  in  the  meantime,  with  the  thought  of  setting  fire 
to  something  in  his  heart  ^nd  the  matchbox  in  his  hand, 
it  was  necessary  to  find  the  materials  for  a  blaze.  He 
had  no  powder  with  him  or  he  would  have  made  a 


8  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB   OF  THE  CITY. 

"  peeoye  " — the  simple  and  inexpensive  firework  of  met- 
ropolitan youth. 

He  looked  up  at  the  heather  and  whin  which  covered 
the  !N"ether  Hill.  His  heart  bounded  within  him  at  the 
thought.  He  looked  again  a  this  matchbox,  which  was  one 
of  the  old  oval  shape,  containing  matches  so  exceedingly 
and  gratuitously  sulphurous,  that  the  very  smell  of  one 
of  them  was  well  worth  the  halfpenny  charged  for  the 
lot.  So,  without  any  further  pause  for  reflection.  Cleg 
stowed  away  all  the  possessions,  inventoried  with  such  ac- 
curacy above,  into  various  outlying  nooks  and  crevices 
among  the  seams  and  pockets  of  his  flapping  attire. 

Having  collected  the  last  one  of  these.  Cleg  climbed 
up  a  crumbling  cliff  at  the  eastern  end  of  the  craigs,  where 
the  stones  lie  about  in  slats.  Upon  each  of  them,  for  all 
the  world  like  green  post-office  wax  dripped  upon  grey 
paper,  was  some  curious  mineral,  which  Cleg,  in  his  hours 
of  decent  citizenship,  collected  and  sold  at  easy  rates  to 
the  boys  of  the  Pleasance  as  a  charm.  This  mysterious 
green  stuff  had  even  been  made  a  seal  of  initiation  into 
one  of  the  most  select,  aristocratic,  and  bloody  secret  so- 
cieties of  which  Cleg  was  a  member.  Indeed,  if  the  truth 
must  be  told.  Cleg  had  formed  the  association  chiefly  that 
he  might  be  able  to  supply  the  badges  of  membership,  for 
he  had  a  corner  in  green  mineral  wax — at  least  so  long  as 
the  mine  at  the  east  corner  of  the  craigs  remained  undis- 
covered by  the  other  adventurous  loons  of  the  south  side. 

Cleg  soon  reached  the  tawny,  thin-pastured,  thick- 
furzed  slopes  which  constitute  the  haunch  of  Arthur's 
lion  hill.  In  the  days  of  Cleg's  youth  these  were  still  clad 
thick  with  whins  and  broom,  among  which  the  birds 
built  in  the  spring,  and  lovers  sat  in  long  converse  on 
little  swarded  oases. 

"  I'll  juist  set  fire  to  this  wee  bit  knowe,"  said  Cleg,  his 


THE  BURNING   OF  THE   WHINNY   KNOWES.  9 

heart  beating  within  him  at  the  enormity  of  the  offence, 
"  There's  no  a  '  keelie '  in  the  toon  that  wad  dare  to  do  as 
muckle ! " 

For  the  ranger  of  that  particular  part  of  the  hill  was 
an  old  soldier  of  great  size  and  surprising  swiftness  in  a 
race.  And  many  had  been  the  Arthur  Street  urchins  who 
had  suffered  a  sore  skin  and  a  night  in  the  cells  after  be- 
ing taken  in  dire  offence.  So  "  the  Warrior  "  they  called 
him,  for  an  all-sufficient  name. 

In  a  sheltered  spot,  and  with  the  wind  behind  him, 
Cleg  opened  Kis  matchbox.  He  struck  a  match  upon  the 
rough  oval  bottom.  It  spurted  faintly  blue,  burned  brisk- 
ly, and  then  flickered  out  within  Cleg's  hollowed  hands. 
Cleg  grunted. 

"  A  fizz  an'  a  stink,"  said  he,  summing  up  the  case  in 
a  popular  phrase. 

The  next  went  somewhat  better.  The  flame  reached 
the  wood,  dipped  as  if  to  expire,  took  hold  again,  and 
finally  burned  up  in  a  broad-based  yellow  triangle.  Cleg 
let  it  drop  among  the  crisp,  dry,  rustling  grasses  at  the 
roots  of  the  w^hin  bushes.  Instantly  a  little  black  line  ran 
forward  and  crossways,  with  hardly  any  flame  showing. 
Cleg  was  interested,  and  laid  the  palm  of  his  hand  upon 
the  ground.  He  lifted  it  instantly  with  a  cry  of  pain. 
What  had  seemed  a  black  line  with  an  edge  of  flickering 
blue  was  really  a  considerable  fire,  which,  springing  from 
the  dry  couch  grass  and  bent,  was  briskly  licking  up  the 
tindery  prickles  of  the  gorse. 

The  next  moment,  with  an  upward  bound  and  a  noise 

like  the  flapping  of  a  banner,  the  flame  sprang  clear  of  the 

whin  bushes,  and  the  blue  smoke  streamed  heavenwards. 

Cleg  watched  the  progress,  chained  to  the  spot.     He  well 

knew  that  it  was  time  for  him  to  be  off.     But  with  the 

unhallowed  fascination  of  the  murderer  for  the  scene  of 
2 


10  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB   OF  THE  CITY. 

his  crime  upon  him,  he  watched  bush  after  bush  being 
swallowed  up,  and  shouted  and  leaped  with  glee.  But  the 
progress  of  the  flame  was  further  and  swifter  than  he  had 
intended.  One  little  knoll  would  have  satisfied  him.  But 
in  a  minute,  driven  forward  by  a  level-blowing,  following 
wind,  the  flame  overleaped  the  little  strait  of  short  turf,  , 
and  grasped  the  next  and  far  larger  continent  of  whin. 

Cleg,  surprised,  began  to  shrink  from  the  consequences 
of  his  act.  He  had  looked  to  revenge  himself  upon  so- 
ciety for  his  expulsion  from  Hunker  Court  by  making  a 
little  private  fire,  and  lo !  he  had  started  a  world  confla- 
gration. He  ran  round  to  the  edge  of  the  gorse  covert. 
Two  hedge-sparrows  were  fluttering  and  dashing  hither 
and  thither,  peeping  and  crying  beseechingly.  Cleg 
looked  at  the  objective  point  of  their  anxiety,  and  there, 
between  two  whin  branches,  was  the  edge  of  a  nest,  and  a 
little  compact  yellow  bundle  of  three  gaping  mouths, 
without  the  vestige  of  a  body  to  be  seen. 

"Guid  life,"  cried  Cleg,  who  kept  kindness  to  birds 
and  beasts  as  the  softest  spot  of  his  heart,  "  guid  life,  I 
never  thocht  the  birds  wad  be  biggin'  already !  " 

And  with  that  he  took  off  his  coat,  and  seizing  it  in 
both  hands  he  charged  boldly  into  the  front  of  the  flame, 
disdainful  of  prickles  and  scorchings.  He  dashed  the 
coat  down  upon  a  bush  which  was  just  beginning  to 
crackle  underneath ;  and  by  dint  of  hard  fighting  and 
reckless  bravery  he  succeeded  in  keeping  the  fire  from  the 
little  island,  on  the  central  bush  of  which  was  situated  the 
hedge-sparrow's  nest.  Here  he  stood,  with  his  coat  thresh- 
ing every  way,  keeping  the  pass  with  his  life — brave  as 
Horatius  at  the  bridge  (or  any  other  man) — while  the 
flames  crackled  and  roared  past  him. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  great  fizzing  and  spitting  from 
the  ragged  coat  which  Cleg  wielded  as  a  quenching  weap- 


When  "the  Warrior"  came. 


THE  BURNING  OF  THE   WHINNY   KNOWES.        H 

on.  The  fatal  matchbox,  cause  of  all  the  turmoil,  had 
exploded.  The  fumes  were  stifling,  but  the  flames  still 
threatened  to  spread,  and  Cleg  still  laid  about  him  man- 
fully. The  tails  of  the  coat  disappeared.  There  was  soon 
little  left  but  the  collar.  Cleg  stood  like  a  warrior  whose 
sword  has  broken  in  his  hand  in  the  face  of  the  trium- 
phant enemy.  But  the  boy  had  a  resource  which  is  not 
usually  open  to  the  soldier.  He  cast  the  useless  coat-collar 
from  him,  stripped  a  sleeved  waistcoat,  which  had  been 
given  him  by  the  wife  of  a  mason's  labourer,  and,  taking 
the  garment  by  the  two  arms,  he  made  an  exceedingly 
efficient  beater  of  the  moleskin,  which  had  the  dried  lime 
yet  crumbly  upon  it  at  the  cuffs. 

When  at  last  "the  Warrior"  came  speeding  up  the 
hill,  warned  out  of  his  Sabbath  afternoon  sleep  by  the  cry 
that  the  whins  were  on  fire,  he  was  in  no  pleasant  temper. 
He  found,  however,  that  the  fire  had  been  warded  from 
the  greater  expanses  by  a  black  imp  of  a  boy,  burned  and 
smutted,  with  the  remains  of  a  moleskin  garment  clasped 
in  a  pair  of  badly  burned  hands. 

When  the  crowd  of  wanderers  had  gathered  from  all 
parts  of  the  hill,  and  the  fire  had  been  completely  tram- 
pled out,  the  ranger  began  his  inquiries.  Cleg  was  the 
chief  suspect,  because  no  one  had  seen  any  other  person 
near  the  fire  except  himself.  On  the  other  hand  no  one 
had  seen  him  light  the  whins,  while  all  had  seen  him  sin- 
gle-handed fighting  the  flames. 

"  It's  Tim  Kelly's  loon,  the  housebreaker,  that  leeved 
in  the  Sooth  Back  !  "  said  the  inevitable  officious  stranger 
with  the  gratuitous  local  knowledge.  At  his  father's  ill- 
omened  name  there  was  an  obvious  hardening  in  the  faces 
of  the  men  who  stood  about. 

"  At  ony  rate,  the  loon  is  better  in  the  lock-up,"  said 
the  ranger  sententiously. 


13  CLEG   KELLY,  ARAB   OP   THE  CITY. 

At  this  Cleg's  heart  beat  faster  than  ever.  Many  had 
been  his  perilous  ploys,  but  never  yet  had  he  seen  the  in- 
side of  the  prison.  He  acknowledged  that  he  deserved  it, 
but  it  was  hard  thus  to  begin  his  prison  experience  after 
having  stayed  to  fight  the  fire,  when  he  could  easily 
have  run  away.  There  was  unfairness  somewhere, 
Cleg  felt. 

So,  with  the  burnt  relics  of  his  sleeved  waistcoat  still 
in  his  hands,  Cleg  was  dragged  along  down  the  edge  of 
the  Hunter's  Bog.  The  ranger  grasped  him  roughly  by 
a  handful  of  dirty  shirt  collar,  and  his  strides  were  so 
long  that  Cleg's  short  legs  were  not  more  than  half  the 
time  upon  the  ground. 

But  at  a  certain  spring  of  clear,  crystal  water,  which 
gushes  out  of  the  hillside  from  beneath  a  large  round 
stone,  the  ranger  paused. 

He  too  had  fought  the  flames,  and  he  had  cause  to 
thirst.  For  it  was  Sunday  afternoon,  and  he  had  arisen 
from  his  usual  lethargic  after-dinner  sleep  upon  the  settle 
opposite  the  kitchen  fire. 

So  at  the  well  he  stooped  to  drink,  one  hand  still  on 
Cleg's  collar,  and  the  palm  of  the  other  set  flat  on  the 
side  of  the  boulder.  It  was  Cleg's  opportunity.  He 
quickly  twisted  himself  suddenly  round,  just  after  the 
ranger's  lips  had  touched  the  water.  The  rotten  cloth  of 
his  shirt  tore,  and  Cleg  sprang  free.  The  ranger,  jerked 
from  the  support  of  the  stone,  and  at  the  same  moment 
detached  from  his  prisoner,  fell  forward  with  his  head  in 
the  spring,  while  Cleg  sped  downhill  like  the  wind.  He 
was  ready  stripped  for  the  race.  So,  leaving  the  panting 
chase  far  behind,  he  made  for  a  portion  of  the  encompass- 
ing wall,  which  none  but  he  had  ever  scaled.  Having 
clambered  upon  the  top,  he  crossed  his  legs  and  calmly 
awaited  the  approach  of  the  ranger. 


WHY  CLEG  KELLY  HATED  HIS  FATHER.    13 

"  It's  a  warm  day,  Warrior,"  said  Cleg ;  "  ye  seem  to 
be  sweatin' ! " 

"  Ye  limb  o'  Sawtan,"  panted  the  ranger,  "  gin  ever  I 
get  ye  this  side  o'  the  dyke,  I'll  break  every  bane  in  your 
body." 

"Faith,"  answered  Cleg,  "ye  should  be  braw  an' 
thankf u',  Warrior,  for  ye  hae  gotten  what  ye  haena  had 
for  years,  and  had  muckle  need  o' ! " 

"  And  what  was  that,  ye  de'il's  buckie  ? "  cried  the 
angry  ranger. 

"A  wash!"  said  Cleg  Kelly,  as  he  dropped  down  the 
city  side  of  the  wall,  and  sped  home  to  his  fortress. 


ADVENTURE  III. 

WHY   CLEG   KELLY   HATED   HIS   FATHER. 

This  is  a  bad,  black  tale ;  yet,  for  the  sake  of  what 
comes  after,  it  must  be  told. 

Cleg  Kelly  had  a  father.  He  was  a  deeply  pock- 
marked man  who  hated  his  son ;  but  not  so  bitterly  as  his 
son  hated  him.  Once  on  a  time  Cleg  Kelly  had  also  a 
mother,  and  it  is  the  story  of  his  mother  which  remains 
to  tell.  The  story  of  most  men  is  the  story  of  their 
mother.  They  drank  love  or  hatred,  scorn  or  sympathy, 
at  her  breasts. 

So  it  was  with  Cleg  Kelly.  So  let  the  story  of  Isbel 
Kelly  be  told.  How  a  woman  may  be  murdered  in  this 
land  and  none  swing  for  it !  How  a  woman  may  be  put 
to  the  torture  every  day  and  every  night  for  years,  and 
the  voice  of  her  crying  mount  (we  must  believe  it)  into 
the  ears  of  the  God  of  Sabaoth,  yet  no  murmur  reach  her 


14  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

nearest  neighbour  upon  the  earth !  Gladlier  would  I  tell  a 
merrier  tale,  save  that  it  is  ever  best  to  get  the  worst  over 
first,  as  medicine  goes  before  barley-sugar. 

Isbel  Kelly  had  not  always  been  Isbel  Kelly.  That  is 
to  say,  she  had  not  always  been  unhappy.  There  was  a 
time  when  Timothy  Kelly  had  not  come  into  her  life. 
Isbel  Beattie  was  once  a  country  girl.  She  had  sung  in 
the  morn  as  she  went  afield  to  call  the  dappled  kine,  as 
glad  a  milkmaid  as  any  in  song  or  story.  Her  foot  was 
the  lightest  in  the  dance  at  the  "  kirn,"  her  hand  the 
deftest  at  the  spinning-wheel,  her  cheerful  presence  the 
most  desired  when  the  butter  would  not  come.  For  the 
butter  ever  comes  fastest  for  a  good-tempered  woman.  A 
vixenish  disposition  only  curdles  the  milk.  That  is  why 
young  men,  landward  but  wise,  so  eagerly  offer  to  help 
the  maids  at  the  butter-making.  And  no  sweeter  maiden 
than  Isbel  Beattie  ever  wore  print  gowns  and  lilted  "  0 
whistle  and  I'll  come  to  ye,  my  lad,"  in  all  the  parish  of 
Ormiland — that  is,  till  Timothy  Kelly  came,  and  Isbel 
sang  no  more. 

Isbel  Beattie  was  "  fey,"  they  said,  and  would  take  no 
advice.  Lads  tight  and  trig  stood  in  rows  to  wait  for  her 
as  she  came  out  of  the  kirk,  on  fine  Sabbath  days  when 
the  lilac  blossoms,  white  and  purple,  were  out,  and  there 
was  a  drooping  sprig  in  every  spruce  bachelor's  coat.  But 
Isbel  passed  them  all  by  with  a  toss  of  her  head.  She 
could  have  married  a  rather  stupid  young  farmer  of  the 
best  intentions  and  unquestioned  solvency  had  she  so 
chosen.  But  Isbel  was  "fey,"  and  would  take  counsel 
from  neither  maid  nor  matron. 

Now  Timothy  Kelly,  the  weasel-faced  Irish  harvest- 
man,  wormed  himself  into  the  girl's  affections  by  ways  of 
his  own,  as  before  and  after  he  had  undone  many  a  trebly 
fastened  door  with  his  steel  picklock. 


WHY  CLEG  KELLY  HATED  HIS  FATHER.   .15 

From  that  day  until  the  hour  of  her  death  Isbel  Beat- 
tie  saw  no  good  day.  A  week  after  they  were  married, 
Timothy  Kelly  was  drinking  Isbel's  last  half-year's  wages 
in  a  public-house,  and  Isbel  was  crying  at  home  with  a 
bruised  cheek.  She  sang  no  more  late  or  early;  but 
learned  to  endure  hardness  and  to  pray  that  the  kind 
Lord  of  whom  she  had  heard  in  the  kirk,  might  send  a 
swift  and  easy  death  as  the  best  thing  to  pray  for. 

Timothy  Kelly  was  not  long  in  Ormiland  ere  he  re- 
moved to  Edinburgh  in  the  interests  of  business.  He 
needed  the  metropolis  for  the  exercise  of  his  talents.  So 
Isbel  packed  what  he  had  left  her,  and  followed  him, 
faithful  and  weary-foot,  to  the  city  lane,  and  Timothy 
Kelly  cursed  her  over  his  shoulder  all  the  way.  But  she 
did  not  hear  him,  and  his  words  did  not  hurt  her.  God 
had  stopped  her  ears.  For  the  sound  of  a  dearer  voice 
was  in  them,  and  the  promise  of  the  Eden  joy  answered 
Isbel,  as  though  the  Lord  Almighty  walked  with  her 
through  the  streets  of  the  city  in  the  cool  of  the  day. 

A  week  after  an  infant  lay  on  the  breast  of  Isbel 
Kelly,  in  a  garret  up  Meggat's  Close,  off  the  Pleasance. 
A  kindly  neighbour  looked  in  now  and  then  when  Tim 
Kelly  was  out,  and  comforted  the  young  mother.  When 
Tim  came  in  he  cursed  them  all  impartially.  His  foul  words 
sent  the  neighbours  forth  again,  full  of  pity  and  indigna- 
tion ;  and  so  he  cast  himself  down  to  sleep  off  drink  and 
temper  on  the  couch  of  rags  in  the  corner. 

Towered  fair-faced  Edinburgh  and  its  seething  un- 
der-world held  no  man  like  Timothy  Kelly.  A  sieve-net 
might  have  been  drawn  through  it  and  no  worse  rascal 
caught  than  he.  Cruel  only  where  he  dared  with  impu- 
nity to  be  cruel,  plausible  and  fawning  where  it  was  to 
his  interest  so  to  be,  Timothy  Kelly  was  a  type  of  the 
criminal  who  lives  to  profit  by  the  strange  infatuations  of 


16  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

the  weakest  women.  From  silly  servant  girls  at  kitchen 
doors  who  thought  him  "  a  most  civil-spoken  young  man," 
he  obtained  the  professional  information  which  enabled 
him  to  make  unrecognised  but  accurate  lists  of  the  family 
silver  upon  some  stormy  midnight,  when  the  policemen 
stood  in  doorways,  or  perambulated  the  city  with  their 
helmets  down  upon  their  brows. 

Isbel  Kelly  wore  thin  and  white,  and  the  bruises  on 
her  face  grew  chronic,  only  occasionally  changing  the 
side.  For  in  this  matter  Timothy  Kelly  had  no  weak 
partiality.  Yet,  in  the  midst  of  all,  Cleg  Kelly  gained  in 
years  and  strength,  his  mother  many  a  time  shielding  him 
from  blows  with  her  own  frail  body.  There  was  a  soft 
light  on  her  face  when  she  looked  at  him.  When  her 
husband  was  out  Isbel  watched  Cleg  all  day  long  as  he 
lay  on  the  bed  and  kicked  with  sturdy  limbs,  or  sprawled 
restlessly  about  the  house.  The  dwelling  was  not  exten- 
sive. It  consisted  of  one  room,  and  Tim  Kelly's  "  hidie 
holes,"  where  he  kept  the  weapons  of  his  craft — curious 
utensils,  with  iron  crab  fingers  set  at  various  angles  upon 
the  end  of  steel  stalks. 

Now,  it  is  the  strangest,  yet  one  of  the  commonest, 
things  in  this  world  that  Isbel  Kelly  loved  her  husband, 
and  at  the  worst  times  said  no  word  against  him.  It  was 
a  mistake.  She  ought  to  have  outfaced  him,  insulted  him, 
defied  him,  given  him  blow  for  blow.  Then  he  might 
have  been  a  reasonably  decent  husband,  according  to  the 
standard  of  Meggat's  Close. 

But  Cleg  Kelly  made  no  such  mistake.  From  the 
time  that  he  was  a  toddling  little  fellow  till  the  parish 
buried  his  mother.  Cleg  Kelly  looked  at  his  father  with 
level  brows  of  hate  and  scorn.  No  one  had  taught  him  ; 
but  the  perception  of  youth  gauged  the  matter  unerringly. 

There  are  but  two  beings  in  the  universe  whom   a 


WHY  CLEG  KELLY  HATED  HIS  FATHER.    17 

really  bad-hearted  man  cannot  deceive :  his  Maker  and  a 
young  child.  Cleg  Kelly  never  quailed  before  his  father. 
Neither  words  nor  blows  daunted  him.  Whenever  his 
father  went  out,  he  said  : 

"  Bad  mannie  gone  away,  minnie  ! " 

^'  Na,  Cleg,"  said  his  mother,  "  ye  mauna  speak  that 
way  0'  yer  faither ! " 

"  Bad  mannie,  minnie !  "  Cleg  repeated  determinedly ; 
"  bad  mannie  gone  away." 

And  from  this  she  could  not  move  him. 

Then  as  soon  as  his  father  began  to  beat  the  lad,  and 
his  mother  was  not  able  to  protect  him.  Cleg  developed  a 
marvelloas  litheness  and  speed.  He  could  climb  roofs 
like  a  cat  at  five  years  of  age,  and  watch  his  father  from 
the  ledge  of  an  outlying  wall  or  the  side  of  a  reeking 
chimney-can,  where  even  the  foot  of  the  practised  burglar 
dared  not  venture. 

Then  came  a  year  black  and  bitter.  It  was  the  year 
of  the  small-pox.  That  part  of  Edinburgh  where  the 
Kellys  lived  became  a  walled  city.  There  was  one  death 
in  every  three  or  four  attacked.  And  Tim  Kelly  went  to 
the  seaside  for  his  health. 

But  Isbel  and  her  boy  battled  it  out  alone.  She  had 
seven  shillings  a  week  for  cleaning  a  day-school.  But 
soon  the  schools  were  closed,  and  her  pay  ceased.  Never- 
theless, she  earned  money  somehow,  and  the  minister  of 
the  McGill-Gillespie  church  visited  her.  It  would  take  a 
whole  treatise  on  Church  History,  and  a  professor  thereof, 
to  tell  why  that  church  was  called  the  McGill-Gillespie. 
But  the  unlearned  may  be  assured  that  these  excellent 
gentlemen  were  not  canonised  Scottish  saints,  nor  were 
their  effigies  worshipped  inside.  But  at  this  time  the 
minister  of  the  church  came  very  near  to  being  worshipped 
outside. 


18  CLEa  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE   CITY. 

The  children  knew  his  step,  and  ran — to^  not  from^ 
him.  He  was  the  only  man,  except  the  doctor,  at  whom 
the  urchins  of  Meggat's  did  not  fling  dirt.  One  of  these 
had  even  been  known  to  touch  his  hat  to  the  minister 
of  McGill-Gillespie.  But  this  was  a  great  risk,  and  of 
course  he  did  not  do  it  when  any  one  was  looking. 

One  day  Cleg  Kelly  sickened,  and  though  at  the  time 
he  was  a  great  boy  of  six,  his  mother  carried  him  about  in 
her  arms  all  day,  soothing  him.  And  the  hot,  dry  spots 
burned  ever  brighter  on  his  cheeks,  and  his  eyes  shone 
like  flame.  The  minister  brought  the  doctor,  for  they 
hunted  in  couples — these  two.  8ome  of  the  ministers  had 
gone  to  the  seaside  with  Timothy  Kelly,  and  along  with 
them  a  few  great  professional  men  from  the  West-End. 
But  the  Pleasance  doctor,  a  little  fair  man,  and  the  min- 
ister of  McGill-Gillespie,  a  tall  dark  man,  remained  with 
the  small-pox.  Also  God  was  there — not  very  evidently, 
or  obtrusively,  perhaps ;  but  the  minister  of  McGill-Gil- 
lespie knew  where  to  find  Him  when  He  was  wanted. 

And  He  was  needed  badly  enough  in  the  sick-room 
of  Cleg  Kelly,  l^o  doubt  Cleg  ought  to  have  gone  to  the 
hospital.  But,  for  one  thing,  the  hospitals  were  over- 
crowded. And,  for  another,  if  they  had  taken  Cleg,  they 
might  have  taken  his  mother  also.  At  all  events  Cleg 
was  nursed  in  his  home,  while  his  father  remained  at 
the  seaside  for  his  health. 

One  night,  when  the  trouble  was  at  its  height.  Cleg 
ran  deliriously  on  about  "  the  bad  mannie."  His  mother 
stilled  and  tended  him.  The  doctor  ordered  a  little  warm 
wine  to  be  given  to  Cleg  occasionally,  and  the  minister  of 
McGill-Gillespie  had  brought  it.  But  Cleg  wavered  be- 
tween life  and  death  in  spite  of  the  wine — and  much 
nearer  death  than  life.  Isbel  had  seen  the  doctor  earlier 
in  the  day,  and  she  was  to  go  for  him  again  if  a  certain 


WHY  CLEa  KELLY  HATED  HIS  FATHER.         19 

anticipated  change  did  not  come  within  six  hours.  The 
change  did  not  come,  though  the  mother  never  took  her 
eyes  off  her  boy.  Cleg  lay  back  on  his  pallet  bed,  inert 
and  flaccid,  his  eyes  glassy  and  fixed  in  his  head.  His 
mother  softly  closed  the  door,  took  her  shawl  over  her 
head,  and  fled  through  the  midnight  streets  to  the  doc- 
tor's house. 

A  sudden  summer  storm  had  arisen  off  the  sea.  The 
wind  swirled  about  the  old  many-gabled  closes  of  Edin- 
burgh. It  roared  over  the  broken  fortress  line  of  the 
Salisbury  Crags.  The  streets  were  deserted.  The  ser- 
ried ash -backets  were  driven  this  way  and  that  by  the 
gale.  Eandom  cats  scudded  from  doorstep  to  cellar, 
dipped,  and  disappeared.  Clash!  fell  a  great  shutter  on 
the  pavement  before  her.  Isbel  Kelly  was  at  the  doctor's 
door.  He  was  not  in.  Would  she  leave  a  message?  She 
would,  and  the  message  was  that  a  little  boy  was  sinking, 
and  that  unless  the  doctor  came  quickly  a  mother's  only 
son  would  die.  She  cried  out  in  agony  as  she  said  it,  but 
the  wind  swirled  the  cry  away. 

So  through  the  turmoil  of  the  storm  she  came  back, 
and  ran  up  the  evil-smelling  dark  stairs,  where  the  ban- 
ister was  broken,  and  only  the  wind-blown  fleer  of  the 
gas-lamp  outside,  flickering  through  the  glassless  windows 
of  the  stairway,  lighted  her  upwards.  She  had  once  been 
a  milkmaid,  but  she  had  forgotten  how  the  cowslips 
smelled.  And  only  in  her  dreams  did  she  recall  the  scent 
of  beehives  over  the  wall  on  a  still  summer  night. 

She  opened  the  door  with  a  great  yearning,  but  with 
no  presentiment  of  evil. 

"  Tim ! "  she  said,  her  face  whitening. 

A  man,  weasel-faced  and  hateful  to  look  upon,  stood 
by  the  little  cupboard.  He  had  a  purse  in  his  hand,  and 
a  bottle  stood  on  the  mantelshelf  beside  him. 


20  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  Oh,  Tim ! "  she  cried,  "  for  the  Lord's  sake  dinna 
tak'  my  last  shillin' — no  frae  me  an'  the  boy.  He's 
deein',  Tim ! " 

She  ran  forward  as  if  to  beseech  him  to  give  the 
money  back  to  her ;  but  Tim  Kelly,  reckless  with  drink, 
snatched  up  the  minister's  wine-bottle  and  it  met  his 
wife's  temple  with  a  dull  sound.  The  woman  fell  in  a 
heap.  She  lay  loosely  on  the  floor  by  the  wall,  and  did 
not  even  moan.  Tim  Kelly  set  the  bottle  to  his  lips  to 
drain  the  last  dregs  with  an  empty  laugh.  But  from  the 
bed  something  small  and  white  flew  at  his  throat. 

"Bad  mannie,  bad  mannie,  bad  mannie!"  a  shrill 
voice  cried.  And  before  Tim  Kelly  could  set  down  the 
bottle,  the  little  flgure  in  flying  swathings  had  dashed  it- 
self again  and  again  upon  him,  biting  and  gnashing  on 
him  like  a  wolf's  cub.  For  the  blood  of  Tim  Kelly  was 
in  the  lad,  as  well  as  the  blood  of  the  milkmaid  who  lay 
on  the  floor  as  one  dead. 

And  this  was  what  the  doctor  found,  when  he  stum- 
bled up  the  stair  and  opened  the  door.  He  had  seen 
many  strange  things  in  his  day,  but  none  so  terrible  as 
this.  He  does  not  care  to  speak  about  it,  though  he  told 
the  minister  that  either  Providence  or  the  excitement  had 
probably  saved  the  child's  life.  Yet  for  all  that  he  tended 
Timothy  Kelly,  when  his  turn  came,  as  well  as  the  best  of 
paying  patients.  For  Tim's  was  an  interesting  case,  with 
many  complications. 

So  this  adventure  tells^the  reason  of  three  things  very 
important  to  be  known  in  this  history — why,  six  months 
after,  Isbel  Kelly  was  glad  to  die,  why  Cleg  Kelly  hated 
his  father,  and  why  smooth-faced  Tim,  who  had  once  de- 
ceived the  servant  girls,  w^as  ever  after  a  deeply  pock- 
marked man. 

What  it  does  not  tell  is,  why  God  permitted  it  all. 


HOW   ISBEL   KELLY   HEARD  SWEET  MUSIC.       21 
ADVENTUKE  IV. 

HOW   ISBEL   KELLY   HEAKD   SWEET   MUSIC. 

Cleg  Kelly  did  not  die  just  then,  which  was  in 
some  ways  a  good  thing.  But  neither  did  his  mother 
Isbel,  which,  for  herself,  was  a  pity.  It  was  also  a  mis- 
take for  society,  for  then  Tim  Kelly  might  also  have  died 
for  the  want  of  a  nurse,  and  Providence  and  the  city 
authorities  would  have  been  saved  a  vast  deal  of  trouble. 

But  in  spite  of  all  boasts  to  the  contrary,  this  is  so 
little  a  free  country  that  people  cannot  always  die  when 
they  want — some  not  even  when  they  ought  to.  And  not 
a  few  have  got  themselves  into  trouble  for  assisting  mani- 
fest destiny.  But  no  one,  not  even  the  chief  constable, 
would  have  been  sorry  had  Isbel  Beattie  forgotten  to  help 
Tim  Kelly,  her  husband,  at  some  crisis  of  his  disease,  so 
that  he  might  have  gone  betimes  to  his  own  place,  and 
thus  have  been  compelled  to  leave  alone  a  great  number 
of  other  places  and  things  with  which  he  had  no  proper 
concern. 

But  Isbel  Kelly  did  not  think  of  that.  Moreover,  Tim 
Kelly  behaved  himself  better  as  an  invalid  than  he  had 
ever  done  as  a  whole  man.  And  as  for  little  Cleg,  he  got 
better  rapidly  in  order  to  get  out  of  his  father's  way. 

But  there  came  a  day  when  both  her  invalids  were  out 
of  her  hands,  and  Isbel  had  time  to  clean  her  house  and 
give  her  attention  to  dying  on  her  own  account.  She  did 
not  wish  to  put  any  one  to  an  inconvenience.  But,  in- 
deed, there  was  little  else  left  for  her  to  do.  Tim  Kelly 
was  again  able  to  attend  to  his  business — which,  strictly 
speaking,  consisted  in  the  porterage  of  other  people's 
goods  out  of  their  houses,  without  previous  arrangement 


22  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

with  the  owners,  and  in  a  manner  as  unobtrusive  as  pos- 
sible. 

Cleg  was  too  young  for  this  profession,  but  according 
to  his  father's  friends  his  day  was  coming.  In  the  mean- 
time he  spent  most  of  the  day  in  a  brickyard  at  the  back. 
For  Tim  Kelly,  owing  to  a  little  difficulty  as  to  rent,  had 
moved  his  household  goods  from  Meggat^s  Close  to  the 
outskirts  of  the  city.  Now  they  do  not  use  many  bricks 
about  Edinburgh ;  but  there  are  exceptions,  especially  in 
the  direction  of  Leith,  and  this  was  the  place  where  they 
made  the  exceptions. 

The  brickyard  was  a  paradise  to  Cleg  Kelly  in  the 
warm  days  of  summer.  The  burning  bricks  made  a 
strange  misty  fume  of  smoke  in  the  air,  which  was  said 
to  be  healthy.  People  who  could  not  afford  to  go  to  Por- 
tobello  for  convalescence  brought  their  children  to  the 
brickyard.  They  made  drain-pipes  and  other  sanitary 
things  there  ;  and  on  that  account  also  the  brickyard  was 
accounted  healthy  for  people  in  the  position  of  the  Kellys. 

At  any  rate  Cleg  Kelly  was  well  content,  and  he  played 
there  from  morn  to  night.  His  mother  generally  watched 
him  from  a  window.  There  was  but  one  window  in  the 
little  "  rickle  of  brick  "  which  their  pawnbroking  Jew 
landlord  called  a  "  commodious  cottage."  He  might  call 
it  what  he  liked.  He  never  got  any  rent  for  it  from  Tim 
Kelly. 

Yet  Isbel  was  happier  here  than  in  the  city.  At  least 
she  could  see  the  trees,  and  she  had  neighbours  who  came 
in  to  visit  her  when  her  husband  was  known  to  be  from 
home. 

"  Eh,  Mistress  Kelly,  I  wonder  ye  can  pit  up  wi'  sic  a 
man,"  said  the  wife  of  Jo  Turner,  a  decent  man  steadily 
employed  on  the  brickfields,  who  only  drank  half  his 
wao^es. 


HOW  ISBEL  KELLY   HEARD  SWEET  MUSIC.       23 

Isbel  signed  frantically  towards  the  bed  with  her  hand. 
But  without  noticing  her  signals  of  distress,  the  innocent 
Mrs.  Turner  went  on  with  the  burden  of  her  tale. 

"  Gin  /  had  sic  a  man,  I  wad  tak'  him  to  bits  an'  pit 
him  up  again  anew — the  black-hearted  scoondrel  o'  a  red- 
headed Irishman ! " 

Tim  Kelly  rose  from  the  bed  where  he  had  been  rest- 
ing himself.  They  do  not  set  a  bed  in  a  room  in  that 
country.  They  put  it  down  outside  a  room  and  build  it 
round  on  three  sides.  Then  they  cover  the  remaining 
side  in  with  as  many  cloths  as  possible,  for  the  purpose  of 
keeping  out  the  air.  From  such  a  death-trap  Tim  Kelly 
rose  slowly,  and  confronted  Mistress  Turner. 

"  Get  out  av  me  house,  Misthress  Turner,  afore  I 
break  the  thick  skull  av  yer  ill-conditioned  face,"  said 
Tim,  whose  abuse  was  always  of  the  linked  and  logical 
kind. 

"  'Deed  an'  I'll  gang  oot  o'  yer  hoose  wi'  pleesure, 
Timothy  Kelly;  gin  I  had  kenned  that  the  likes  o'  ye 
was  in  it,  Mary  Turner  wad  never  hae  crossed  yer  door- 
step.*' 

"  Well,  now  that  ye  are  here,  be  afther  takin'  yersilf 
acrost  the  durestip,  as  suddent  an'  comprehensive-like  as 
ye  can — wid  yer  brazen  face  afore  ye  an'  yer  turned-up 
nose  in  the  air.  When  ye  are  wanted  bad  in  this  house, 
ye'll  get  an  invite  wid  a  queen's  pictur'  on  it  an'  me 
kyard  ! "  said  Tim  Kelly,  sarcastically. 

Mary  Turner  betook  herself  to  the  door,  in  a  manner 
as  dignified  as  it  is  possible  to  retain  when  retreating  with 
one's  face  to  the  foe.  But  when  she  got  there,  she  put 
her  arms  akimbo  and  opened  the  vials  of  her  wrath  on 
Tim  Kelly.  The  neighbours  came  to  the  doors  to  listen. 
It  was  a  noble  effort,  and  the  wives  remembered  some  of 
Mistress  Turner's  phrases  long  after,  and  reproduced  them 


24  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

every  fortnight  upon  pay-nights,  for  the  benefit  of  their 
husbands  when  they  came  home  with  only  eleven  intact 
shillings  out  of  twenty-three. 

But  Tim  Kelly  hardly  troubled  to  reply.  He  only 
said  that  Mary  Turner  was  a  brass-faced  old  Jezebel,  a 
statement  which  he  repeated  several  times,  because  he  ob- 
served that  it  provoked  on  each  occasion  a  fresh  burst  of 
the  Turnerian  vocabulary. 

Tim  Kelly  never  wasted  animosity.  After  all.  Mis- 
tress Turner  was  not  his  wife,  and  there  were  other  means 
of  getting  even  with  her.  He  could  win  money  at  cards 
from  her  husband,  or  he  could  teach  her  son,  Jamie,  who 
had  just  left  school,  a  fine  new  game  with  the  lock  of  a 
door  and  one  of  his  curious  pronged  hooks.  There  are 
more  ways  of  killing  a  cat  than  drowning  it  in  cream — 
also  many  deaths  less  agreeable  to  the  cat.  So  Tim  Kelly 
bided  his  time. 

But  for  some  reason  Tim  Kelly  grew  less  unkind  to 
his  wife  than  he  had  ever  been,  since  those  terrible  days 
when  in  Ormiland  parish  bonny  Isbel  Beattie  grew  "  fey." 

It  was  said  that  Tim  was  afraid  of  his  son  Cleg.  At 
any  rate,  certain  it  is  that  he  beat  his  wife  no  more,  and 
very  occasionally  he  even  gave  her  a  little  money.  So  in 
her  heart  Isbel  Kelly  counted  these  good  days,  and  some- 
times she  could  almost  have  wished  to  live  a  little  longer. 

It  was  not  often  that  Cleg  stayed  in  the  house  with 
her.  That  she  did  not  expect.  But  at  all  times  of  the 
day  she  could  see  him,  rushing  about  the  brickfield,  some- 
times piling  bricks  into  castles ;  at  other  times  helping  Jo 
Turner ;  then  again  playing  at  marbles  for  "  keeps "  in 
the  red  dust  of  the  yard,  with  the  sun  pouring  down  upon 
his  head.  It  was  a  constant  marvel  to  Isbel  that  he  was 
never  tired.     She  was  always  tired. 

Sometimes  Cleg  Kelly  fought,  and  then  his  mother 


HOW  ISBEL  KELLY  HEARD  SWEET  MUSIC.       25 

called  him  in.  He  always  came — after  the  fight  was  over. 
He  still  wore  a  hat  of  straw  with  a  hole  in  it,  or  rather  he 
wore  a  hole  with  a  little  rim  of  hat  round  it.  He  loved 
his  mother,  and,  on  the  whole,  attended  to  what  she  told 
him.  He  did  not  steal  anything  of  value,  nor  would  he 
go  near  Hare's  public.  He  did  not  tell  more  lies  than 
were  just  and  necessary.  He  minded  his  mother's  wants, 
and  was  on  the  whole  a  fairly  good  boy,  as  boys  go  down 
by  the  Easter  Beach  brickyard.  The  standard  was  not  an 
exacting  one. 

"  Mind,  now.  Cleg,  when  I  gang  awa',  ye  are  to  bide 
wi'  your  faither,  an'  no  cross  him  ower  sair.  He  is  your 
faither,  mind,  an'  I  leave  him  to  you." 

Cleg  promised — to  please  his  mother,  but  he  loved  his 
other  parent  none  the  more.  The  next  time  he  saw  him 
come  home  drunk,  he  clouted  him  with  a  paving-stone 
from  behind  the  yard  wall.  He  excused  himself  by  say- 
ing his  mother  was  not  gone  away  yet. 

This  was  the  lesson  Isbel  taught  Cleg  every  day  when 
he  came  in  to  his  scanty  meals,  many  of  which  good  Mis- 
tress Turner  slipped  into  the  house  under  her  apron,  when 
the  "  brute  beast  and  red-headed  gorilla  "  of  her  anathema 
was  known  to  be  out  of  the  way. 

After  a  while  there  came  an  afternoon  when  Isbel 
Kelly  felt  strangely  quiet.  It  was  a  drowsy  day,  and  the 
customary  sounds  of  the  brickfield  were  hushed  in  the 
doze  of  the  afternoon  sun.  Outside  it  was  hot  with  an 
intense  heat,  and  a  kind  of  pale  bluish  smother  rose  off 
the  burning  bricks.  The  reek  of  the  kilns  drifted  across 
the  fields,  too  lazy  to  rise  through  the  slumberous  sun- 
shine. The  whole  yard  radiated  blistering  heat  like  an 
oven. 

Isbel  sat  by  the  window  in  a  chair  which  Tim  had 
made  during  his  convalescence;  for  he  was  exceedingly 


26  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

handy  with  tools,  and  during  those  days  he  had  nothing 
worse  to  do. 

She  made  the  house  as  tidy  as  she  could  compass  dur- 
ing the  morning  hours,  steadying  herself  with  one  hand 
on  the  walls  as  she  went  about.  Cleg,  of  course,  was  play- 
ing outside.  He  had  come  racing  in  for  his  dinner  with 
a  wisp  of  hair  sticking  out  of  the  hole  in  his  hat.  Isbel 
smoothed  it  down,  and  because  her  hand  touched  him 
like  a  caress  Cleg  put  it  from  him,  saying,  "Dinna, 
mother ;  somebody  micht  see  ye  ! " 

It  was  hot,  and  the  boy  was  a  little  irritable ;  but  his 
mother  understood. 

Then,  as  he  took  the  plate  of  broth,  he  told  his  mother 
all  that  had  happened  in  the  brickfield  that  day.  He  had 
carried  clay  for  Jo,  and  Jo  had  given  him  a  penny.  Then 
he  had  been  at  a  rat-hunt  with  the  best  terrier  in  the 
world.  He  had  also  chased  Michael  Hennessy  twice  round 
the  yard  after  a  smart  bout  of  fisticuffs.  Thereupon,  the 
men  had  cheered  him,  and  called  him  a  "  perfect  wull- 
cat " — which  Cleg  took  to  be  a  term  of  praise,  and  cher- 
ished as  a  soldier  does  the  "  penn'orth  o'  bronze  "  which 
constitutes  the  Victoria  Cross. 

Isbel  only  sat  and  rested  and  listened.  Tim  was  away 
for  the  day,  she  knew  not  where,  and  the  minutes  Cleg 
remained  indoors  and  talked  to  her  were  her  sole  and 
sufficient  pleasure.  She  thanked  the  Lord  for  each  one 
of  them.  But  she  never  called  the  boy  in  against  his  will, 
nor  yet  held  him  longer  than  he  cared  to  stay. 

Yet,  somehow,  on  this  day  Isbel  was  more  eager  than 
usual  to  detain  her  son.  She  clung  to  him  with  a  strange 
kind  of  yearning.  But  as  soon  as  Cleg  had  finished  his 
bread  and  soup  he  snatched  up  his  white  straw  hat-brim 
and  raced  out,  crying,  as  he  ran,  "  I^m  awa',  mither — Tam 
Gillivray  has  stealed  my  auld  basin  withoot  the  bottom." 


HOW  ISBEL  KELLY  HEARD   SWEET  MUSIC.       27 

This  was  a  serious  offence,  and  Cleg  went  down  in 
haste  to  avenge  the  insult.  Soon  there  was  the  noise  of 
battle  below — chiefly,  however,  the  noise  of  them  that 
shout  for  the  mastery;  and  then,  in  a  little,  when  the 
bottomless  basin  had  been  recovered  by  its  rightful  owner, 
the  noise  of  them  that  cry  for  being  overcome. 

From  the  window  Isbel  watched.  Her  thin  hair  fell 
over  her  wasted  temples,  and  she  pressed  her  hand  on  her 
breast,  searching  as  though  something  were  missing  there. 
And  so  there  was.  It  was  about  a  lung  and  a  half  which 
she  missed.  Nevertheless  there  had  fallen  a  peace  upon 
Isbel  to  which  she  had  been  unaccustomed.  Faint  trem- 
ors ran  through  her  body,  and  though  the  window  was 
wide  open,  she  often  gasped  for  breath.  A  blissful,  pain- 
less weariness  stole  over  her. 

Cleg  was  playing  below.  He  had  achieved  a  victory, 
complete,  yet  not  quite  bloodless,  for  Tam  Gillivray  was 
staunching  his  nose  at  the  smith's  cauldron  with  a  lump 
of  cold  iron  at  the  back  of  his  neck.  Cleg,  prancing  in 
haughty  state  and  followed  by  a  little  train  of  admirers, 
was  now  dragging  the  basin  in  triumph  round  the  yard. 
He  was  pretending  that  it  was  a  railway  train  drawn  by 
an  engine  of  extremely  refractory  disposition,  which  cur- 
vetted and  reared  in  a  most  unenginely  manner. 

Isbel  watched  him  from  her  window. 

"  He  is  happy,  puir  laddie — maybe  happier  than  he'll 
ever  be  again.  Let  him  bide  a  wee.  I'll  gie  him  a  cry,  in 
time." 

Then  she  looked  again.  She  prayed  a  little  while  with 
her  eyes  shut.  Beneath,  Cleg  was  holding  his  court.  He 
had  crowned  himself  with  the  basin,  and  pulled  his  hair 
through  it  in  the  shape  of  a  plume.  As  an  appropriate 
finish  for  the  whole,  he  had  stuck  the  mop  of  protruding 
locks  full  of  feathers,  and  now  he  was  presiding  over  a 


28  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE   CITY. 

court  of  justice  at  which  Michael  Hennessy  was  being 
tried  for  his  life  on  the  charge  of  murdering  a  "  yellow 
yoit."  In  due  course  the  verdict  of  justifiable  homicide 
was  returned,  and  the  culprit  sentenced  to  kill  another,  or 
be  belted  round  the  brickyard. 

Then,  wearying  for  a  fresher  ploy,  the  boys  decided  to 
build  a  fortress,  and  instantly,  as  soon  as  they  had  thought 
of  it,  they  set  to  work  with  a  mountain  of  refuse  bricks, 
Cleg  Kelly  putting  no  hand  to  the  manual  labour,  but 
being  easily  first  in  the  direction  of  affairs.  This  "  gaffer- 
ship  "  suited  Cleg  so  well  that  he  turned  three  excellent 
wheels  in  the  greatness  of  his  content,  and  then  immedi- 
ately knocked  over  several  boys  for  presuming  to  imitate 
him,  when  they  ought  to  have  been  fulfilling  orders  and 
building  bricks  into  a  fortress. 

From  the  window  his  mother  still  watched  him.  She 
smiled  to  see  his  light-heart  joy,  and  said  again,  as  if  to 
herself,  "  In  a  while  I  shall  cry  to  him — I  dinna  need  him 
yet ! " 

All  about  there  grew  up  in  her  ears  a  sound  of  sweet 
music,  as  of  the  many  singers  at  the  kirk  on  still,  warm 
Sabbath  days,  singing  the  psalms  which  she  remembered 
long  ago  in  Ormiland,  only  they  sounded  very  far  away. 
And  at  times  the  brickyard  reeled  and  dazzled,  the  arid 
trodden  ground  and  steaming  bricks  fell  back,  the  cracked 
walls  opened  out,  and  she  saw  the  sun  shining  upon  golden 
hills,  the  like  of  which  she  had  never  seen  before. 

"  What  is  this?  Oh,  what's  this  ?  "  she  asked  herself 
aloud,  and  the  sound  of  her  own  voice  was  in  her  ears  as 
the  roaring  of  many  waters. 

It  seemed  to  her  to  be  almost  time  now.  She  leaned 
forward  wearily  to  call  her  son  to  help  her.  But  he  was 
sitting  on  a  throne  in  the  midst  of  his  castle,  dressed  as 
Eobin  Hood,  with  all  his  merry  men  about  him.      He 


THE  BRIGANDS  OF  THE  CITY.  29 

looked  so  happy,  and  he  laughed  so  loud,  that  Isbel  said 
again  to  herself — 

"  I  can  manage  yet  for  half  an  hour,  and  then  I  shall 
cry  to  him." 

But  her  son  caught  sight  of  her  at  the  window.  He 
was  so  elated  that  he  did  not  mind  noticing  his  mother, 
as  a  common  boy  would  have  done.  He  waved  his  hand 
to  her,  calling  out  loud — 

"  Mither,  mither,  I'm  biggin'  a  bonny  hoose  for  ye  to 
leeve  in ! " 

Isbel  smiled,  and  it  was  as  if  the  sun  which  shone  on 
the  hills  of  her  dream  had  touched  her  thin  face  and 
made  it  also  beautiful  for  the  last  time  before  sundown. 

"My  guid  boy — my  nice  boy,"  she  said,  "the  Lord 
will  look  till  him !  He  said  he  was  biggin'  a  hoose  for  his 
mither.  Let  him  big  his  hoose.  In  an  hour  I  shall  cry 
to  him — my  ain  laddie  ! " 

Yet  in  an  hour  she  did  not  cry,  and  it  was  the  only 
time  she  had  ever  broken  her  word  to  her  son. 

But  that  was  because  Isbel  Kelly  had  journeyed  where 
no  crying  is.     IS'either  shall  there  be  any  more  pain. 


ADYENTUKE  Y. 

THE   BRIGAKDS   OF  THE   CITY. 

Cleg  Kelly's  mother  lay  still  in  her  resting  grave, 
and  had  no  more  need  of  pity.  Cleg  abode  with  his  father 
in  the  tumble-down  shanty  by  the  brickfield  at  Easter 
Beach,  and  asked  for  no  pity  either.  Cleg  had  promised 
his  mother,  Isbel,  that  he  would  not  forsake  his  father. 

"  Ka,  I'll  no  rin  awa'  frae  ye,"  so  he  told  his  father. 


30  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

frankly,  "  for  I  promised  my  mither ;  but  gin  ye  lick  me, 
I'll  pit  my  wee  knife  intil  ye  when  ye  are  sleepin' !  Mind 
ye  that ! " 

And  his  father  minded,  which  was  fortunate  for 
both. 

Cleg  was  now  twelve,  and  much  respected  by  his 
father,  who  fully  believed  that  he  was  speaking  the  truth. 
Tim  Kelly,  snow-shoveller,  feared  his  son  Cleg  with  his 
sudden  wild-cat  fierceness,  much  more  than  he  feared  God 
— more,  even,  than  he  feared  Father  Donnelly,  to  whom 
he  went  twice  a  year  to  ease  his  soul  of  a  portion  of  his 
more  specially  heinous  sins. 

Yet  Tim  Kelly  was  a  better  man,  because  of  the  re- 
spect in  which  he  held  his  son.  He  even  boasted  of 
Cleg's  cleverness  when  he  was  safe  among  his  old  cronies 
in  Mother  Flannigan's  kitchen,  or  in  the.  bar-parlour  at 
Hare's  public. 

"  Shure,  there's  not  the  like  av  him  in  this  kingdom 
av  ignorant  blockheads.  My  Clig's  the  natest  and  the 
illigantest  gossoon  that  stips  in  his  own  boot-leather. 
Shure,  he  can  lick  anything  at  all  near  his  own  weight. 
Sorra's  in  him,  he  can  make  his  ould  man  stand  about. 
Faith,  'tis  him  that's  goin'  to  be  the  great  man  intoirely, 
is  our  little  Clig." 

These  were  the  opinions  of  his  proud  father. 

But  Jim  Carnochan,  better  known  as  the  "  Devil's 
Lickpot,"  demurred.  If  Cleg  was  so  clever  a  boy,  why 
was  he  not  set  to  work  ?  A  boy  so  smart  ought  long  ere 
this  to  have  been  learning  the  profession.  To  this  Mother 
Flannigan  agreed,  for  she  shared  in  the  profits. 

"  My  Peether,  rest  his  sowl  for  a  good  lad — him  as  was 
hanged  be  token  of  false  evidence — and  the  bobbies  findin' 
the  gintleman's  goold  watch  in  Peether's  pocket,  was  at 
wurrk  whin  he  was  six  years  av  his  age.     Take  my  wurrd 


THE  BRIGANDS  OF  THE  CITY.  31 

for  it,  Timothy  Kelly,  there  never  yet  was  a  thruely  great 
man  that  didn't  begin  his  education  young." 

"  Maybe,"  said  Tim,  "  and  that's  the  raison,  Misthress 
Flannigan,  that  so  few  av  them  grew  up  to  be  ould  men." 

"  Gin  he  was  my  boy,"  said  Sandy  Telfer,  whose  occu- 
pation was  breaking  into  houses  during  the  summer  holi- 
days (one  of  the  safest  "lays"  in  the  profession,  but 
looked  down  upon  as  mean-spirited),  "  I  wad  be  haein' 
him  through  the  windows  and  openin'  the  front  doors 
every  dark  nicht." 

"  Ah,  you  wud,  wud  ye  ?  "  replied  Tim  Kelly  contemp- 
tuously ;  "  you're  the  great  boy  to  talk,  you  that  has  no 
more  manhud  in  ye  than  a  draff -sack  wid  a  hole  in  it. 
Yuss,  ye  can  do  yer  dirthy  way  wid  your  own  mane- 
spirited  spalpeens,  wid  no  more  spunk  than  a  dure-mat. 
But  I'd  have  ye  know  that  my  Clig  cud  make  hares 
av  you  an'  ivvery  Telfer  av  the  lot  o'  ye — hear  to  me 
now !  " 

And  Tim  Kelly  shook  his  fist  within  an  inch  of  the 
nose  of  Sandy  Telfer,  who,  not  being  a  man  of  war, 
showed  by  the  curl  of  his  nostril  and  the  whitening  of  his 
lip,  that  he  did  not  find  the  bouquet  of  Tim  Kelly's 
bunch-of-fives  an  agreeable  perfume.  Tim  Kelly  waited 
to  see  if  on  any  pretext  he  could  bring  his  fist  into  closer 
contact  with  Sandy  Telfer's  face,  but  he  found  no  cause. 

"  My  Clig,"  he  said  emphatically,  "  is  goin'  to  be  a 
great  characther.  He  is  jist  the  boy  that  is  to  climb  the 
top  laddher  av  the  profession.  It's  his  father  that  must 
be  out  at  night,  an'  run  the  risk  av  the  dirthy  bobby  wid 
his  lanthern,  an'  the  gintleman  av  the  house  in  his  night- 
shirt wid  a  cruel  poker.  But  Clig  shall  sit  safe  and  aisy 
in  his  chair,  an'  make  his  thousands  a  year  wid  the  scrap 
av  his  pen.  He'll  promothe  companies,  an'  be  out  av  the 
way  when  they  burst.     He'll  write  so  illegant  that  he  cud 


32  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

turn  ye  off  another  gintleman's  signathure  as  fast  as  his 
own,  an'  worth  a  deal  more  on  a  bit  av  paper  than  anny 
av  our  names " 

"Come  away  hame,  faither,  sittin'  bletherin'  there. 
Ye  hae  been  here  lang  enough." 

It  was  the  face  of  Cleg  Kelly,  dirty,  sharp,  and  good- 
natured,  which  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  boozing  ken. 

Mistress  Flannigan  caught  up  a  pound  weight  and 
threw  it  at  Cleg  with  a  woman's  aim.  It  flew  wide,  and 
would  surely  have  smashed  some  of  the  unclean  vessels 
standing  ready  for  the  wash  on  the  dresser,  had  Cleg  not 
stepped  briskly  within,  and,  catching  the  missile  deftly, 
made  a  low  bow  as  he  laid  it  on  the  table,  and  said,  with 
his  rare  disarming  smile — 

"  Your  obedient  servant.  Cleg  Kelly  ! " 

"  Hear  to  him  now,  the  young  bliggard ! "  cried  his 
delighted  and  well-intoxicated  father.  "  He  has  come  to 
arm  the  ould  man  home,  an'  the  ould  man'll  have  to  be 
stippin'  too  when  Clig  gives  the  wurrd." 

Isbel  Kelly  had  indeed  been  a  happy  woman  if,  ten 
years  ago,  she  had  learned  Cleg's  method. 

"  Come  on,  faither,"  reiterated  Cleg,  who  had  again 
retreated  to  the  door,  for  he  had  no  liking  for  the  com- 
pany or  the  place. 

Tim  Kelly  got  himself  on  his  feet  unsteadily,  and 
lurched  towards  the  door.  His  son  caught  him  deftly  on 
the  descending  swoop. 

"  Steady,  faither,  mind  the  stair.     Gie  us  yer  han'." 

And  so  Cleg  got  Timothy,  his  father,  who  deserved  no 
such  care,  tenderly  up  the  filthy  exit  of  Mistress  Flanni- 
gan's  cellar. 

"  Tim's  not  the  man  he  was,"  Sandy  Telfer  said,  as  the 
pair  went  out. 

"It's  fair  undecent  doin'  as  the  boy  bids  him,  an' 


THE  BRIGANDS  OF  THE  CITY.  33 

never  so  much  as  puttin'  the  laddie  to  an  honest  bit  o' 
wark.  Ah,  he'll  suffer  for  that,  or  a'  be  dune !  They'll 
be  raisons  annexed  to  that,"  continued  the  summer  house- 
breaker, who  had  been  respectably  brought  up  on  the 
Shorter  Catechism,  but  who,  owing  to  a  disappointment 
in  love,  had  first  of  all  joined  another  denomination,  and, 
the  change  not  answering  its  purpose,  had  finally  taken  to 
housebreaking  and  drink. 

"  Ye  may  say  so,  indeed,"  said  Bridget  Flannigan. 

So  Cleg  took  his  father  home  to  the  rickety  house  by 
the  brickyard.  Cleg  kept  the  room  clean  as  well  as  he 
could.  But  the  sympathetic  neighbour,  who  remembered 
his  mother,  occasionally  took  a  turn  round  the  place  with 
a  scrubbing-brush  when  it  was  absolutely  certain  that  the 
"  red-headed  gorilla  "  was  absent,  attending  to  other  peo- 
ple's business. 

Whenever  Cleg  saw  his  father  refrain  from  Hare's 
public  and  the  evening  sessions  of  Mistress  Flannigan's 
interesting  circle,  he  knew  that  Tim  had  a  project  on 
hand.  Generally  he  took  no  particular  heed  to  these. 
For  it  was  his  custom,  as  soon  as  he  saw  his  father  off  on 
any  of  his  raids,  to  go  and  report  himself  casually  at  the 
nearest  police-station,  where  the  sergeant's  wife  knew 
him.  She  often  gave  him  a  "  piece  "  with  sugar  on  it, 
having  known  his  mother  before  ever  she  left  the  parish 
of  Ormiland. 

The  sergeant's  wife  remembered  her  own  happy  escape 
from  being  Mrs.  Timothy  Kelly,  and  though  her  heart 
had  been  sore  against  Isbel  at  the  time,  she  had  long  for- 
gotten the  feeling  in  thankfulness  that  her  lines  had  fallen 
on  the  right  side  of  the  law.  But  she  had  never  confided 
to  the  sergeant  that  she  had  once  known  Tim  Kelly  some- 
what intimately. 

Cleg  did  not  mean  to  be  mixed  up  in  any  of  his  father's 


34  CLEa  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

ill-doings  if  he  could  help  it,  so  upon  these  occasions  he 
frequented  the  precincts  of  the  police-station  as  much  as 
the  sergeant's  wife  would  let  him. 

It  was  his  custom  to  take  his  "  piece  " — an  excellent 
thick  slice  of  bread  with  brown  sugar  on  it — and  seat  him- 
self on  a  luxurious  paling  opposite  to  eat  it.  The  fact  that 
a  great  many  message  boys  passed  that  way  may  have  had 
something  to  do  with  Cleg's  choice  of  locality.  Cleg  liked 
to  be  envied.  And,  seeing  the  "  piece,"  more  than  one 
boy  was  sure  to  give  chase.  This  introduced  a  healthy 
variety  into  Cleg's  life.  He  liked  to  fool  with  these 
young  men  of  the  message  basket.  Exercise  sharpens  the 
appetite,  and  when  this  morning  the  butcher's  boy  chiv- 
vied him  over  the  parched-up  grass  field  that  lay  between 
the  station  and  the  brickyard,  Cleg  fairly  whooped  in 
his  joy. 

At  first  he  ran  slowly,  and  apparently  with  great 
alarm,  so  that  the  butcher's  boy  had  not  the  least  doubt 
that  he  easily  could  catch  him.  Cleg  held  the  sergeant's 
wife's  "  piece  "  in  his  hand  as  he  ran,  so  that  the  butcher's 
boy  could  see  the  thick  sugar  on  the  top  of  the  yellow 
butter.  This  stirred  up  the  pursuer's  desires,  and  he 
made  a  spurt  to  seize  Cleg.  Had  the  assailant  been  the 
grocer's  boy,  to  whom  sugar  and  butter  were  vain  things, 
Cleg  would  have  had  to  try  another  plan.  ]^ow,  when 
the  butcher's  boy  spurted,  Cleg  almost  let  himself  be 
caught.  He  heard  close  behind  him  the  labouring  of  the 
avenger.  With  a  sudden  rush  he  sped  thirty  yards  in 
front ;  then  he  turned  and  ran  backwards,  eating  the  ser- 
geant's wife's  "  piece  "  as  he  ran.  This  aggravated  the 
butcher's  boy  to  such  an  extent  that  he  had  to  stop  with 
his  hand  on  his  panting  side,  and  curse  Cleg's  parentage 
— which,  sad  to  relate,  pleased  Cleg  more  than  anything. 
He  said  it  was  prime.     By  which  he  meant,  not  the  ser- 


THE  BRIGANDS  OF  THE  CITY.  35 

geant's  wife's  "  piece,"  but  the  whole  situation,  and  espe- 
cially the  disgust  of  the  butcher's  boy. 

Then  Cleg,  being  contented,  offered  honourable  terms, 
for  he  and  the  butcher's  boy  were  in  reality  very  good 
friends.  He  gave  his  late  pursuer  a  fair  half  of  the  bread 
and  sugar,  but  reserved  the  crust  for  himself.  So,  munch- 
ing amicably.  Cleg  and  the  butcher's  boy  returned  to- 
gether to  the  paling  on  which  Cleg  had  been  sitting. 

But,  alas !  during  his  temporary  absence  from  his 
care,  Tam  Luke,  the  baker's  boy,  had  come  along.  And 
in  pursuit  of  the  eternal  feud  between  butcher's  boys  and 
baker's  boys,  he  had  overturned  the  basket  and  rolled  the 
meat  on  the  road.  Luke  was  now  sitting  on  the  rail  a 
little  way  along,  smoking  a  pipe  loaded  with  brown  paper, 
with  a  kind  of  ostentatious  calmness. 

When  half  across  the  field  the  butcher's  boy  observed 
the  insult  to  his  basket.  Yet  he  said  nothing  till  he 
came  quite  near.  Then,  in  the  most  friendly  manner 
possible,  he  seized  the  defiled  leg  of  mutton,  destined  for 
the  dinner  of  an  eminent  Doctor  in  Divinity,  and  hit 
Tam  Luke  a  swinging  blow  over  the  head  with  it,  which 
not  only  broke  that  youth's  pipe,  but  for  a  season  spoiled 
the  shape  of  his  mouth,  and  tumbled  him  incontinently 
over  the  fence. 

The  baker's  boy  rose,  shedding  freely  bits  of  clay  pipe 
and  exceedingly  evil  words.  A  battle  royal  seemed  im- 
minent to  one  who  did  not  know  the  commonplaces  of 
friendly  intercourse  among  these  worthies.  But  the 
baker's  boy  contented  himself  with  stating  over  and  over 
in  varied  and  ornamental  language,  highly  metaphorical 
in  parts,  what  he  would  do  to  the  butcher's  boy  if  he  hit 
him  again.  However,  the  butcher's  boy  had  too  great  an 
advantage  in  handling  Professor  Hinderlands'  leg  of  mut- 
ton, and  the  tempest  gradually  blew  itself  out. 


36  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

Whereupon  all  parties  betook  themselves  to  a  street 
pump  to  wash  the  various  articles  which  had  been 
strewed  in  the  mire,  and  to  dry  them  on  the  butcher's 
boy's  blue-striped  apron,  which  he  wore  girt  about  him 
like  a  rope.  It  was  a  highly  instructive  sight.  And  had 
the  cooks  of  various  respectable  families  seen  the  process, 
they  would  have  had  a  sufficient  answer  to  their  frequent 
indignant  question  that  morning,  "  What  can  be  keeping 
Cleaver's  young  vaigabond  ?  " 

Also,  had  they  happened  to  pass,  a  number  of  the  good 
ladies  who  sat  down  so  comfortably  to  enjoy  their  dinners 
(which  they  called  "  lunch  "  if  anybody  happened  to  call) 
would  certainly  have  gone  without  the  principal  course. 

But  the  butcher's  boy  and  the  baker's  boy  were  not  in 
the  least  distressed.  Such  things  happened  every  day. 
It  was  all  in  the  way  of  business.  And  as  for  our  hero, 
he,  as  we  have  indicated  before,  merely  remarked,  in  his 
vulgar  way,  that  it  was  prime. 

So  far  he  had  had  a  good,  interesting  day,  and  was 
exceedingly  pleased  with  himself. 

Presently  all  three  went  and  calmly  smoked  on  the 
side  of  the  road,  roosting  contentedly  on  the  paling,  while 
Tam  Luke,  who  had  got  a  prize  for  good  reading  at  the 
school,  drew  out  of  his  pocket  "  The  Bully  Boys'  Budget " 
— an  international  journal  of  immense  circulation,  which 
described  the  adventures  of  associated  bands  of  desperate 
ruffians  (aged,  on  an  average,  nine)  in  'New  York,  a  city 
which  Cleaver's  loon  looked  upon  as  a  boys'  Paradise. 
Boys  were  discouraged  in  Edinburgh.  They  got  no 
chance  of  distinguishing  themselves. 

"  It's  a  most  michty  queer  thing,"  said  Cleg,  "  that  the 
story  says,  if  Tam  Luke  reads  it  richt " 

"  I'll  smash  yer  tawtie  held  ! "  remarked  that  gentle- 
man, mightily  offended  at  the  insinuation. 


THE  BRIGANDS  OF  THE  CITY.  37 

"If  Tarn  Luke  reads  it  richt,"  continued  Cleg,  "that 
in  New  York  the  hobbies  rin  f rae  the  boys ;  but  here  the 
boys  rin  frae  the  bobbies  like  fun." 

"Jfe.^"  said  Cleaver's  boy.  "I  wadna  rin  for  ony 
bobby  in  the  hale  toon." 

"  An'  me,"  cried  Tam  Luke,  with  mighty  contempt, 
'*  I  lickit  a  big  bobby  the  nicht  afore  yestreen.  I  could 
fecht  a  bobby  wi'  yae  hand  tied  ahint  my  back." 

"  Bobbies  are  nane  sic  bad  folks.  The  sergeant's  wife 
over  there  gied  me  a  '  piece,' "  said  Cleg  gratefully. 

"  Ye  are  a  reid-heided  Irish  traitor ! "  said  the  butcher's 
boy  with  emphasis. 

"  It's  my  faither  that's  reid-heided,"  said  Cleg  prompt- 
ly ;  "  but  tak'  that  ony  way  for  speaking  ill  0'  the  family ! " 

And  with  the  back  of  his  hand  he  knocked  the  libeller 
of  his  forbears  over  into  the  field. 

"  I'm  gaun  to  be  captain  o'  a  band  o'  robbers — will  ye 
baith  join  ?  "  said  Tam  Luke. 

Cleaver's  boy  was  about  to  wreak  his  vengeance  on 
Cleg  from  the  other  side  of  the  fence,  but  he  paused  with 
his  arm  suspended  to  think  over  the  proposal. 

"  I'm  gaun  to  be  captain  o'  a  band  mysel' !  Will  ye 
join?"  said  the  butcher's  boy  to  Cleg,  instead  of  assault- 
ing him  as  he  had  first  intended. 

"  What  to  do  ?  "  asked  practical  Cleg. 

"  To  fecht  the  poliss,  of  course ! "  cried  the  butcher's 
boy  and  the  baker's  boy  together.  Their  unanimity  was 
wonderful. 

"  There's  the  sergeant  the  noo  !  "  said  Cleg  quietly,  point- 
ing across  the  road. 

And  it  was  indeed  the  sergeant,  who,  having  been  on 
night  duty,  had  just  risen  and  strolled  out  to  see  what 
kind  of  weather  it  was. 

The  valiant  captains  of  the  decimating  bands  which 


38  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

were  to  terrorise  the  police  of  the  city,  descended  from 
their  several  roosts  as  with  one  mind,  seized  their  baskets, 
and  sped  round  opposite  corners  with  amazing  speed. 

Cleg  Kelly  was  left  alone,  sitting  on  the  paling.  He 
pulled  out  what  remained  of  his  crust,  and  as  he  ate  it 
with  relish,  he  laughed  aloud  and  kicked  his  heels  with 
glee,  so  that  the  sergeant,  stretching  himself  after  his  day- 
sleep,  called  across  to  the  boy — 

"What's  up  wi'  ye,  Cleg?  Ye  seem  to  be  enjoyin' 
yoursel' ! " 

But  all  the  answer  he  could  get  out  of  Cleg  was  just, 
"  0  man,  sergeant,  it's  prime  ! " 

But  as  to  whether  he  meant  the  crust  or  only  things 
in  general,  the  sergeant  was  none  the  wiser. 


ADVENTUEE  VL 

CLEG  TURI^S   BURGLAK. 

Cleg  had  watched  his  father  furtively  all  day.  Little 
conversation  passed  between  these  two.  Cleg  devoted 
much  of  his  time  to  a  consideration  of  the  best  means  of 
legitimate  gain  in  his  new  profession  of  capitalist.  He 
possessed  the  large  sum  of  one  shilling  and  a  penny.  It 
was  banked  upon  sound  old  principles  in  the  hollow  end 
of  a  brick,  which  was  buried  under  a  flag  in  the  backyard 
of  a  brewery.  Cleg  had  hidden  it  with  mystic  incanta- 
tions, and  now  carried  a  red  worsted  thread  twisted  round 
his  finger  to  remind  him  of  its  whereabouts. 

But  there  was  another  reason  besides  his  large  capital, 
why  Cleg  was  unusually  watchful  of  his  father  that  day. 
First  of  all,  Tim  Kelly  had  come  home  sober  from  Hare's 


CLEG  TURNS  BURGLAR.  39 

public  the  night  before.  That  was  a  suspicious  circum- 
stance in  itself.  It  showed  not  only  that  his  ready  cash 
had  all  been  liquefied,  but  that  Mistress  Hare  had  drawn 
a  line  under  the  big  chalk  score  behind  her  door.  This 
line  was  the  intimation  that  the  single  file  of  figures  must 
be  wiped  off  before  another  dram  was  served. 

"Ye've  had  Larry  on  your  back  long  enough,  sure, 
Tim ! "  said  Mistress  Hare,  who  regulated  these  matters 
in  person.  "  Idleness  is  a  most  deadly  sin,  Father  Malony 
sez ! "  continued  the  landlady  devoutly. 

"  Shure,  an'  it's  not  the  divil's  sin,  thin,  Mistress  Hare," 
said  Tim  acutely,  "  for  he's  busy  enough  ! " 

Tim  was  the  only  burglar  with  a  brogue  in  the  city, 
and  as  such  was  dear  to  the  heart  of  Mistress  Hare.  For 
the  Scot,  when  he  takes  to  the  investigation  of  other 
people's  houses,  does  so  grimly  and  without  romance.  But 
Tim  had  always  a  hint  of  Celtic  imagination  and  even  of 
poetry  in  his  creations. 

For  instance,  all  that  day  on  which  Cleg  kept  his  eye 
on  his  father,  Tim  was  meditating  a  raid  on  the  house  of 
Mr.  Eobert  Grey  Tennant,  a  comfortable  burgess  of  the 
burgh,  who  for  the  ease  of  his  later  life  had  built  himself 
— not  a  lordly  pleasure  house  indeed,  but  a  comfortable 
mansion  of  Craigleith  stone,  exactly  like  three  hundred 
and  sixty-five  other  mansions  on  the  south  side  of  the  city. 

There  was  at  the  back  of  Aurelia  Villa  a  little  border- 
ing of  flowers  and  strawberries.  These,  however,  never 
came  to  much,  for  the  cats  broke  the  flowers  and  extra- 
neous boys  stole  the  strawberries.  There  was  also  a  little 
green  plot,  big  enough  for  parlour  croquet,  but  not  big 
enough  for  lawn  tennis.  Yet  this  did  not  prevent  the 
serious-minded  and  inventive  young  woman  of  the  house, 
Miss  Cecilia  Tennant,  from  frequently  playing  what  she 
called  "  pocket-handkerchief  tennis  "  on  this  scraplet  of 


40  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

lawn.  And  it  was  indeed  a  lively  game,  when  two  or 
three  of  her  admirers  arrived  with  racquets  and  rubber 
shoes  to  engage  in  silk-striped  summer  strife. 

When  a  couple  of  champions  of  the  Blackhouse  Club 
met  on  the  same  side  of  the  net,  they  winked  at  each 
other,  and  amusement  struggled  with  politeness  within 
them.  But  when  each  one  of  their  services  came  near  to 
annihilating  an  opponent's  nose,  and  as  they  sent  their 
returns  out  of  court  and  over  boundary  walls  with  monot- 
onous regularity,  they  changed  their  minds.  Especially 
was  this  so  when  Miss  Cecilia  Tennant  and  a  certain 
Junior  Partner  in  a  mercantile  concern  in  the  town,  put 
in  with  equal  certainty  neat  services  and  returns,  dropping 
the  balls  unexpectedly  into  odd  corners  as  if  playing  with 
egg  spoons.  They  asked  the  Junior  Partner  how  he  did 
it.  The  Junior  Partner  said  it  was  native  genius.  But 
perhaps  the  undisclosed  fact  that  Cecilia  Tennant  and  he 
played  together  three  nights  out  of  six  on  that  lawn  had 
rather  more  to  do  with  it.  Pocket-handkerchief  tennis 
is  certainly  convenient  for  some  things.  It  keeps  the 
players  very  close  to  one  another,  except  when  they  fall 
out — an  advantage  which  it  shares  with  ballooning. 

But  Tim  Kelly  was  not  interested  in  this  house  be- 
cause of  the  desirable  young  men  who  played  tennis  there, 
nor  yet  because  of  any  love  of  the  young  woman  for  whose 
sweet  sake  they  bought  new  scarves  and  frequented  the 
neighbourhood  on  the  chance  of  a  casual  meeting.  On 
the  contrary,  Timothy  was  after  the  spoons.  Hall-marked 
silver  was  his  favourite  form  of  sport.  And  for  this  he 
had  all  the  connoisseur's  eagerness  and  appreciation. 

His  son  was,  on  the  contrary,  exceedingly  interested  in 
the  house  itself.  He  was  the  most  fervent  of  Miss  Cecilia 
Tennant's  admirers,  though  he  had  never  told  her  so. 
This  peculiarity  he  shared  with  a  great  many  other  young 


CLEG  TURNS  BURGLAR.  41 

gentlemen,  including  every  male  teacher  except  two  (al- 
ready attached)  in  Hunker  Court  school. 

Yet  in  spite  of  all  this  affection,  before  midnight  of 
that  autumn  night.  Cleg  Kelly,  future  Christian,  became 
a  burglar — and  that  upon  the  premises  of  his  benefactress, 
Miss  Cecilia  Tennant.     It  happened  in  this  wise. 

Tim  sat  all  day  on  the  floor  of  his  house  at  home. 
He  did  so  from  necessity,  not  from  choice.  For  his  apart- 
ment was  airily  furnished  in  the  Japanese  fashion,  with 
little  except  a  couple  of  old  mattresses  and  as  many  rugs. 
There  were  no  chairs.  They  had  been  removed  during 
Tim's  last  absence  in  the  "  Calton  "  by  the  landlord  in 
lieu  of  rent.  So  Tim  sat  on  the  floor  and  worked  with  a 
file  among  a  bundle  of  keys  and  curiously  constructed 
tools.  There  was,  for  instance,  a  great  lever  with  a  fine 
thin  edge  set  sideways  to  slip  beneath  windows  on  stormy 
nights,  when  the  wrench  of  the  hasp  from  its  fastening 
would  not  be  heard. 

There  were  delicate  little  keys  with  spidery  legs  which 
Tim  looked  at  with  great  admiration,  and  loved  more  than 
he  had  ever  loved  his  wife  and  all  his  relations.  There 
were  also  complicated  wrenching  implements,  with  horror 
latent  about  them,  as  though  they  had  come  from  some 
big  arm-chaired,  red-glassed  dental  surgery.  Tim  Kelly 
was  putting  his  tools  to  rights,  and  Cleg  watched  him 
intently,  for  he  also  was  a  conspirator. 

At  midday  the  boy  vanished  and  reported  himself  at 
the  police-sergeant's.  He  asked  for  a  "  piece,"  and  the 
sergeant's  wife  told  him  to  be  off.  She  was  busy  and  he 
might  come  back  when  the  weans  came  in  for  their  din- 
ners. She  had  not  time  to  be  always  giving  the  likes  of 
him  "  pieces  "  in  the  middle  of  the  day. 

Cleg  did  not  care.  He  was  not  particularly  hungry. 
But  he  hung  about  all  afternoon  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
4 


42  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

the  police-station,  and  so  pestered  the  good-natured  police- 
men off  duty,  that  one  of  them  threatened  him  with  "  a 
rare  belting  "  if  he  did  not  quit. 

Whereupon  Cleg  buttoned  up  his  jacket,  made  to  him- 
self a  paper  helmet,  and  with  a  truncheon  in  his  hand 
stalked  about  in  front  of  the  station,  taking  up  stray  dogs 
in  the  name  of  the  law.  One  of  these  he  had  previously 
taught  to  walk  upon  its  hind  legs.  This  animal  he  ar- 
rested, handcuffed  with  a  twist  of  wire,  and  paraded  over 
against  the  station  in  a  manner  killingly  comic — much  to 
the  amusement  of  the  passers-by,  as  well  as  detrimental  to 
the  sobriety  and  discipline  of  the  younger  officers  them- 
selves. But  Cleg  was  seldom  meddled  with  by  the  police. 
He  was  under  the  protection  of  the  sergeant's  wife,  who 
so  often  gave  him  a  "piece."  She  also  gave  "pieces" 
sometimes  to  the  officers  at  the  station-house.  For  ac- 
cording as  a  policeman  is  fed,  so  is  he.  And  it  was  the 
sergeant's  wife  who  stirred  the  porridge  pot.  Therefore 
Cleg  was  left  alone. 

In  this  manner  Cleg  amused  himself  till  dark,  when 
he  stole  home.  His  father  was  already  coming  down  the 
stairs.  Cleg  rapidly  withdrew.  His  father  passed  out 
and  took  the  narrowest  lanes  southward  till  he  entered 
the  Queen's  Park  under  the  immanent  gloom  of  the  Salis- 
bury Crags.  Cleg  followed  like  his  shadow.  Tim  Kelly 
often  looked  behind.  He  boasted  that  he  could  hear  the 
tramp  of  the  regulation  police  boot  at  least  half  a  mile, 
and  tell  it  from  the  tread  of  a  circus  elephant,  and  even 
from  the  one  o'clock  gun  at  the  Castle.  But  he  saw  no 
silent  boy  tracking  him  noiselessly  after  the  fashion  of  the 
Indian  scout,  so  vividly  described  in  the  "Bully  Boys' 
Journal." 

Tim  Kelly  bored  his  way  into  the  eye  of  a  rousing 
south  wind  that  "  reesled  "  among  the  bare  bones  of  Sam- 


CLEG  TUKXS  BURGLAR.  43 

son's  Eibs,  and  hurled  itself  upon  Edinburgh  as  if  to 
drive  the  city  off  its  long,  irregular  ridge  into  the  North 
Sea.  Bending  sharply  to  the  right,  the  burglar  came 
among  buildings  again.  He  crossed  the  marshy  end  of 
Duddingstone  Loch.  It  was  tinder-dry  with  the  drought. 
At  the  end  of  a  long  avenue  was  to  be  seen  the  loom  of 
houses,  and  the  gleam  of  lights,  as  burgess's  wife  and 
burgess  moved  in  this  order  to  their  bedrooms  and  dis- 
arrayed themselves  for  the  night. 

Tim  Kelly  hid  behind  a  wall.  Cleg  crouched  behind 
his  father,  but  sufficiently  far  behind  not  to  attract  his 
attention.  Cleg  was  taking  his  first  lessons  in  the  great 
craft  of  speculation — which  is  the  obtaining  of  your 
neighbour's  goods  without  providing  him  with  an  equiva- 
lent in  exchange.  The  trifling  matter  of  your  neighbour's 
connivance,  requisite  in  betting  and  stock  transactions, 
escaped  the  notice  of  the  Kellys.  But  perhaps  after  all 
that  did  not  matter. 

Aurelia  Villa,  the  home  of  Miss  Cecilia  Tennant  (in- 
cidentally also  of  her  father,  Mr.  Eobert  Grey  Tennant), 
darkened  down  early ;  for  Mr.  Eobert  Tennant  was  an 
early  riser,  and  early  rising  means  early  bedding  (and  a 
very  good  thing  too). 

Tim  Kelly  knew  all  that,  for  his  local  knowledge  was 
as  astonishing  as  his  methods  of  obtaining  it  were  mysteri- 
ous. It  was  not  twelve  of  the  clock  when  Tim  drew  him- 
self over  the  wall  out  of  the  avenue,  and  dropped  lightly 
as  a  cat  upon  the  pocket-handkerchief  lawn,  which  all  the 
summer  had  been  worn  at  the  corners  by  the  egg-spoon 
tennis  of  Cecilia  and  the  Junior  Partner. 

Tim  Kelly  was  at  the  back  door  in  a  minute.  It  was 
down  three  steps.  He  laid  a  bag  of  tools,  which  clinked 
a  little  as  he  took  them  out  of  his  pocket,  on  the  stone 
ledge  of  the  step.     It  might  be  safer,  he  thought,  to  take 


44  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

a  look  round  the  house  and  listen  for  the  hippopotamus 
tread  of  the  regulation  bull-hide.  In  a  moment  after 
Tim  was  round  at  the  gable  end  flat  among  the  straw- 
berries. There  it  came  !  Clear  and  solemnising  fell  the 
tread  of  the  law  in  all  its  majesty — a  bull's-eye  lantern 
swinging  midships  a  sturdy  girth,  which  could  hardly, 
even  by  courtesy,  be  called  a  waist.  Flash !  Like  a 
search-light  ran  the  ray  of  the  lantern  over  the  front  of 
the  property  of  Mr.  Eobert  Grey  Tennant. 

But  the  regulation  boots  were  upon  the  feet  of  a  man 
of  probity.  The  wearer  opened  the  front  gate,  tramped 
up  the  steps,  conscientiously  tried  the  front  door  and 
dining-room  window  of  the  end  house  in  the  row.  They 
were  fast.  All  was  well.  Duty  done.  The  owners  might 
sleep  sound.  They  paid  heavy  police  rates  to  a  beneficent 
local  authority.  Why  should  they  not  sleep  well  ?  But, 
alas !  the  regulation  boots  did  not  take  any  cognisance  of 
Tim  Kelly  with  his  nose  among  the  strawberries,  or  of  a 
small  boy  who  was  speeding  over  the  waste  fields  and  back 
yards  into  the  Park.  The  small  boy  carried  a  parcel.  He 
was  a  thief.  This  small  boy  was  Cleg  Kelly,  the  hero  of 
this  tale. 

Timothy  Kelly  rose  from  among  the  strawberries  with 
laughter  and  scorn  in  his  heart.  If  the  bobby  had  only 
gone  to  the  back  door  instead  of  the  front,  there  was  a 
parcel  there,  which  it  would  have  made  him  a  proud  po- 
liceman to  take  to  the  head  office.  Tim  Kelly  stooped  at 
the  steps  to  take  up  his  precious  satchel  of  tools.  His 
hand  met  the  bare  stone.  His  bag  was  gone  !  His  heart 
dinned  suddenly  in  his  ears.  This  was  not  less  than 
witchcraft.  He  had  never  been  ten  yards  from  them  all 
the  time.  Yet  the  tools  were  gone  without  sound  or  sight 
of  human  being.     Then  there  was  an  interval. 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  COCKROACHES.        45 

During  this  interval  Tim  Kelly  expressed  his  opinions 
npon  things  in  general.  The  details  are  quite  unfit  for 
publication. 

But  at  that  yery  moment,  over  at  the  end  of  Dudding- 
stone  Loch,  a  small  boy  was  whirling  a  small  but  heavy 
bag  round  his  head. 

"  Once !  Twice !  Thrice — and  away  ! "  he  cried  with 
glee.  Something  hurtled  through  the  air,  and  fell  with  a 
splash  far  in  the  black  deeps  of  the  loch.  Years  after 
this  the  antiquary  of  the  thirtieth  century  may  find  this 
bundle,  and  on  the  strength  of  it  he  will  take  away  the 
honest  character  of  our  ancestors  of  the  Iron  Age,  proving 
that  burglary  was  commonly  and  scientifically  practised 
among  them.    But  the  memory  of  Cleg  Kelly  will  be  clear. 

Indeed,  he  was  sound  asleep  when  his  father  came  in, 
breathing  out  threatenings  and  slaughter.  Tim  listened 
intently  with  his  ear  at  his  son's  mouth,  for  it  is  well  to 
be  suspicious  of  every  one.  But  Cleg's  breathing  was  as 
natural  and  regular  as  that  of  an  infant. 

Yet  there  is  no  doubt  whatever,  that  Cleg  and  not  his 
father  had  been  guilty  of  both  burglary  and  theft  that 
night ;  and  that  Duddingstone  Loch  was  indictable  for 
the  reset  of  the  stolen  property. 

Then  Cleg  Kelly,  burglar,  winked  an  eye  at  his  father's 
back,  and  settled  himself  to  sleep  the  genuine  sleep  of  the 
just. 


ADVENTUKE   VIL 

THE   ADYENTUKE   OF  THE   COCKROACHES. 

Oi^E  day  Cleg  Kelly  became  paper-boy  at  the  shop  of 
Mistress  Koy,  at  the  top  corner  of  Meggat's  Close.     And 


46  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

he  wanted  you  to  know  this.  He  was  no  longer  as  the 
paper-boys  who  lag  about  the  Waverley,  waiting  for  stray 
luggage  left  on  the  platforms,  nor  even  as  this  match-boy. 
He  was  in  a  situation. 

His  hours  were  from  half-past  six  in  the  morning  to 
half -past  six  in  the  morning,  when  he  began  again.  His 
wages  were  three  shillings  a  week — and  his  chance.  But 
he  was  quite  contented,  for  he  could  contrive  his  own 
amenities  by  the  way.  His  father  had  been  in  a  bad 
temper  ever  since  he  lost  his  tools,  and  so  Cleg  did  not  go 
home  often. 

This  was  the  way  in  which  he  got  his  situation  and 
became  a  member  of  the  established  order  of  things,  in- 
deed, the  next  thing  to  a  voter.  There  had  been  a  cheap 
prepaid  advertisement  in  the  "  Evening  Scrapbook,"  which 
ran  as  follows  : — 

"  Wanted,  an  active  and  intelligent  message-hoy^  ahle 
to  read  and  write.  Must  he  tvell  recomme?ided  as  a  Chris- 
tian hog  of  good  and  toilling  disposition.  Wages  not 
large^  hut  will  he  treated  as  one  of  the  family, — Apply  No. 
2,301, '  Scrapbook '  Office,'' 

Now  Miss  Cecilia  Tennant  thought  this  a  most  inter- 
esting and  encouraging  advertisement.  She  had  been  for 
a  long  time  on  the  look-out  for  a  situation  to  suit  Cleg. 
The  Junior  Partner  indeed  could  have  been  induced  to 
find  a  place  for  Cleg  in  "  The  Works,"  but  it  was  judged 
better  that  the  transition  from  the  freedom  of  the  streets 
to  the  lettered  ease  of  an  office  desk  should  be  made  grad- 
ually. So  Celie  Tennant  went  after  this  situation  for  Cleg 
in  person. 

The  arrangement  with  Mistress  Koy  in  the  Pleasance 
was  a  little  difficult  to  make,  but  Celie  made  it.  She 
went  down  one  clammy  evening,  when  the  streets  were 
covered  with  a  greasy  slime,  and  the  pavements  reflected 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  COCKROACHES.       47 

the  gloomy  sky.  In  the  grey  lamp-sprinkled  twilight  she 
reached  the  paper-shop.  There  were  sheafs  of  papers  and 
journals  hung  up  on  the  cheeks  of  the  door.  Coarsely 
coloured  valentines  hung  in  the  window,  chiefly  rude  por- 
traitures of  enormously  fat  women  with  frying-pans,  and 
of  red-nosed  policemen  with  batons  to  correspond. 

Celie  Tennant  entered.  There  was  a  heavy  smell  of 
moist  tobacco  all  about.  The  floor  of  the  little  shop  was 
strewn  with  newspapers,  apparently  of  ancient  date,  cer- 
tainly of  ancient  dirt.  These  rustled  and  moved  of  them- 
selves in  a  curious  way,  as  though  they  had  untimely  come 
alive.  As  indeed  they  had  done,  for  the  stir  was  caused 
by  the  cockroaches  arranging  their  domestic  afiairs  under- 
neath. Celie  lifted  her  nose  a  little  and  her  skirts  a  good 
deal.  It  took  more  courage  to  stand  still  and  hear  that 
faint  rustling  than  to  face  the  worst  bully  of  Brannigan's 
gang  in  the  Sooth  Back.  She  rapped  briskly  on  the 
counter. 

A  man  came  shuffling  out  of  the  room  in  the  rear. 
He  was  clad  in  rusty  black,  and  had  a  short  clay  pipe  in 
his  mouth.  His  eyes  were  narrow  and  foxy,  and  he  looked 
unwholesomely  scaly — as  if  he  had  been  soaked  in  strong 
brine  for  half  a  year,  but  had  forgotten  either  to  finish 
the  process,  or  to  remove  the  traces  of  the  incomplete 
pickling. 

"  Servant,  m'am ! "  said  he,  putting  his  pipe  behind 
him  as  he  came  into  the  shop. 

"  I  was  referred  here — to  this  address — from  the  office 
of  the  '  Evening  Scrapbook,' "  said  Celie,  with  great  dig- 
nity, standing  on  her  tiptoes  among  the  papers.  "  I 
called  about  the  situation  of  message-boy  you  advertised 
for." 

"Ye  wasna  thinkin'  o'  applyin'  yerselM"  said  the 
man,  with  a  weak  jocularity.     "  For  my  ain  part  I  hae 


48  CLEa  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

nae  objections  to  a  snod  bit  lass,  but  the  mistress  michtna 
like  it." 

Miss  Cecilia  Tennant  looked  at  him  in  a  way  that 
would  have  frozen  a  younger  man,  but  the  frowsy  object 
from  the  back  shop  only  smirked  and  laughed.  With 
care,  the  jest  would  serve  him  a  week.  He  made  up  his 
mind  to  whom  he  would  tell  it  when  the  lady  was  gone. 

"  I  wish  to  recommend  one  of  the  boys  from  my  class 
for  the  position.  His  name  is  Charles  Kelly.  He  is  a 
smart  boy  of  thirteen,  and  he  is  anxious  to  get  good  and 
steady  work.     What  are  the  wages  you  offer  ?  " 

The  man  looked  cunningly  all  about  the  shop.  He 
craned  his  neck  over  the  counter  and  looked  up  the  street. 
He  had  a  long- jointed  body,  and  a  neck  that  shut  up  and 
pulled  out  like  a  three-draw  telescope.  Celie  Tennant 
shrank  instinctively  when  the  man  protruded  his  head 
past  her  in  this  curious  manner,  as  she  might  have  shrunk 
from  some  loathly  animal. 

Then,  having  resumed  his  normal  slouch  behind  the 
counter,  he  looked  at  his  visitant  and  said,  "  The  wage  is 
half  a  croon  a  week,  and  his  chance  o'  the  drawer — the 
same  as  mysel'." 

"  His  chance  of  the  drawer ! "  said  Celie,  not  under- 
standing. 

"  When  she^s  oot,"  the  man  continued,  laying  his  finger 
against  the  side  of  his  nose  and  winking  with  meaning 
and  expression  at  his  visitor.  The  expression  of  disgust 
at  the  corner  of  Miss  Tennant's  nose  threatened  to  result 
in  a  permanent  tilt,  which  might  have  been  unbecoming, 
and  which  certainly  must  have  frightened  the  Junior 
Partner. 

"  When  she's  oot,"  repeated  the  frowsy  one,  confiden- 
tially, "  your  friend  is  welcome  to  his  chance  o'  the  drawer 
— if,"  he  added,  with  infinite  caution,  "  she  was  to  leave 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  COCKROACHES.       49 

it  unlocked,  which  she  seldom  does.  It's  lock'd  the  noo ! 
See !  "  And  he  shook  a  greasy  knob  under  the  counter 
till  the  drawer  rattled  against  the  bolt  of  the  lock.  "  Oh, 
it's  just  like  her !  She  aye  does  that  when  she  gangs  oot. 
She's  an  awsome  near  woman !  She  has  nae  confidence, 
nae  open-hearted  leeberality,  sic'  as  a  wife  ought  to  hae 
wi'  the  husband  of  her  bosom." 

"  Do  you  want  a  message-boy,  or  do  you  not  ? "  said 
Celie,  who  felt  that  in  the  interests  of  Cleg  she  would  face 
a  battery  of  artillery,  but  who  really  could  not  stand 
the  rustling  among  the  papers  on  the  floor  very  much 
longer. 

"  Certain  she  do  that ! "  said  the  man,  "  an  active  boy, 
an  intelligent  boy,  a  Christian  boy — half  a  croon  a  week — 
and  his  chance  o'  the  drawer." 

Once  more  he  protruded  his  head  in  that  monstrously 
serpentine  manner  round  the  corner  of  the  low  shop-door. 
But  this  time  he  retracted  it  quick  as  lightning,  and  shuf- 
fled back  into  the  room  behind.  Celie  heard  him  throw 
himself  on  a  chair,  which  groaned  under  him. 

"  I'm  sleepin'  noo,"  he  said,  "  sleepin'  soond.  Dinna 
say  that  I  ever  spoke  till  ye,  for  I'll  deny  it  if  ye  do ! "  he 
said. 

Cecilia  Tennant  stood  her  ground  bravely,  though  the 
newspapers  on  the  floor  rustled  continuously.  She  won- 
dered why  the  path  of  duty  was  such  a  cockroachy  one. 
A  moment  afterward  a  grim-looking,  hard-faced  woman 
entered.  She  was  a  tall  woman,  with  a  hooked  nose  and 
broad  masculine  face.  The  eyes  were  at  once  fierce  and 
suspicious.  She  marched  straight  round  the  counter,  lift- 
ing the  little  flap  at  the  back  and  letting  it  fall  with  a 
bang.  The  cat  was  sitting  on  the  end  of  the  counter 
nearest  the  door  of  the  inner  room.  The  woman  took  her 
hand  and  swept  it  from  the  counter,  as  though  she  had 


50  CLEa  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

merely  knocked  off  a  little  dust.  The  cat  went  into  the 
inner  room  like  a  projectile. 

Then,  having  entrenched  herself  at  the  back  of  the 
counter,  the  fierce-eyed  woman  turned  sharp  round  and 
faced  Celie  Tennant. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  certain  defiance  in  her  tone 
such  as  women  only  use  to  one  another,  which  was  at  once 
depreciatory  and  pitiful.  The  Junior  Partner  would  have 
turned  and  fled,  but  Celie  Tennant  was  afraid  of  no 
woman  that  walked. 

"  I  came,"  she  said,  clearly  and  coldly,  "  to  ask  about 
the  situation  of  message-boy  for  one  of  my  Mission  lads. 
I  was  sent  here  from  the  office  of  the  newspaper.  Has  the 
situation  been  filled  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  boy's  name  ?  "  asked  the  woman,  twitch- 
ing the  level  single  line  of  her  black  brows  at  her  visitor. 

"  His  name  is  Charles  Kelly." 

"  Son  o'  Tim  Kelly  that  leeves  in  the  Brickfield  ? " 
asked  the  woman  quickly. 

"  I  believe  that  is  his  father's  name,"  said  Celie,  giving 
glance  for  glance. 

"Then  we  dinna  want  the  likes  o'  him  here!"  said 
the  woman,  half  turning  on  her  heel  with  a  certain  dark 
contempt. 

"  But  my  name  is  Cecilia  Tennant  of  Glenleven  Koad, 
and  I  am  quite  willing  to  give  security  for  the  boy — to  a 

reasonable  amount,  that  is- "  continued  Celie,  who  had 

a  practical  mind  and  much  miniature  dignity. 

"  Will  ye  leave  the  money  ?  "  asked  the  woman,  as  if  a 
thought  struck  her. 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  Celie,  "  but  I  will  write  you 
a  line  stating  that  I  hold  myself  responsible  for  anything 
he  is  proved  guilty  of  stealing,  to  the  extent  of  ten 
pounds.'* 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  SHEEMUS.  61 

It  was  thus  that  Cleg  Kelly  became  newsboy  and  gen- 
eral assistant  to  Mistress  Koy  and  her  husband  at  Eoy's 
corner. 

As  Celie  went  out,  she  heard  Mr.  Koy  stretching  him- 
self and  yawning,  as  though  awakening  out  of  a  deep 
sleep. 

"  Wha's  that  ye  hae  had  in  ?  "  he  inquired  pleasantly. 

"  What  business  is  that  o'  yours,  ye  muckle  slabber  ?  " 
returned  his  wife  with  instant  aggression. 

And  the  cockroaches  continue  to  rustle  all  the  time 
beneath  the  carpet  of  old  newspapers. 


ADVENTUKE  VIII. 

THE   PLIGHT   OF  SHEEMUS. 

Next  morning  Cleg  Kelly  entered  upon  his  duties. 
He  carried  orders  to  the  various  publishing  offices  for 
about  two  hundred  papers  in  all.  He  had  often  been 
there  before  upon  his  own  account,  so  that  the  crowd  and 
the  rough  jocularity  were  not  new  to  him.  But  now  he 
practised  a  kind  of  austere,  aristocratic  hauteur.  He  was 
not  any  longer  a  prowler  on  the  streets,  with  only  a  stance 
for  which  he  might  have  to  fight.  He  was  a  newsvendor's 
assistant.  He  would  not  even  accept  wager  of  battle  upon 
provocation  offered.  He  could,  however,  still  kick ;  and 
as  he  had  an  admirable  pair  of  boots  with  tackety  soles  an 
inch  thick  to  do  it  with,  he  soon  made  himself  the  most 
respected  boy  in  the  crowd. 

On  returning  to  the  Pleasance,  he  was  admitted 
through  the  chink  of  the  door  by  Mistress  Eoy,  who  was 
comprehensively  dressed  in  a  vast  yellow  flannel  bed-gown, 


62  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

which  grew  murkier  and  murkier  towards  her  feet.  Her 
hair  was  tumbling  about  her  eyes.  That,  too,  was  of  a 
yellow  grey,  as  though  part  of  the  bed-gown  had  been 
ravelled  out  and  attached  loosely  to  her  head.  Feathers 
and  woolly  dust  were  stuck  impartially  over  hair  and  bed- 
gown. 

"  Write  the  names  on  the  papers  as  I  cry  them,"  she 
said  to  Cleg,  "  and  look  slippy." 

Cleg  was  quick  to  obey.  He  had,  in  fact,  his  pencil 
ready. 

"  Cready,  number  seventeen — three  stairs  back.  Dinna 
write  a'  that.  Write  the  name,  an'  mind  the  rest,"  said 
Mistress  Eoy. 

"  Mac  Vane,  twenty- wan,  shop,"  and  so  on  went  the  list 
interminably. 

Mistress  Eoy  kept  no  books,  but  in  her  memory  she 
had  the  various  counts  and  reckonings  of  all  grades  of 
her  customers.  She  retained  there,  for  instance,  the  exact 
amounts  of  the  intricate  scores  of  the  boys  who  took  in 
the  "  Boys  of  the  City."  She  knew  who  had  not  paid  for 
the  last  chapter  of  "  Ned  Kelly ;  or,  the  Iron-clad  Austra- 
lian Bushranger."  She  had  a  mental  gauge  on  the  great 
roll  of  black  twist  tobacco  which  lay  on  the  counter 
among  old  "Evening  Scraps."  She  knew  exactly  how 
much  there  was  in  the  casks  of  strong  waters  under  the 
stairs,  from  which,  every  Sunday,  her  numerous  friends 
and  callers  were  largely  entertained. 

When  Cleg  went  out  to  deliver  his  papers  he  had 
nearly  a  hundred  calls  to  make.  But  such  was  his  sense 
of  locality  and  his  knowledge  of  the  district  that,  with  the 
help  of  a  butcher's  boy  of  his  acquaintance  (to  whom  he 
promised  a  reading  of  the  "  Desperadoes  of  New  Orleans ; 
or,  the  Good  Ku  Klux"),  he  managed  to  deliver  all — ex- 
cept a  single  "  Scotsman  "  to  one  Mackimmon,  who  lived 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  SHEEMUS.  53 

in  a  big  land  at  the  corner  of  RankeiUor  Street.  Him 
he  was  utterly  unable  to  discover. 

Upon  his  return  Mistress  Roy  was  waiting  for  him. 

"  Did  ye  deliver  them  a'  ?"  she  asked,  bending  forward 
her  head  in  a  threatening  manner  as  if  expecting  a  neg- 
ative reply. 

"  A'  but  yin  ! "  said  Cleg,  who  was  in  good  spirits,  and 
pleased  with  himself. 

His  mistress  took  up  a  brush.  Cleg's  hand  dropped 
lightly  upon  a  pound  weight.  He  did  not  mean  to  play 
the  abused  little  message-boy  if  he  knew  it. 

"  And  what  yin  might  that  be  ?  "  said  Mistress  Roy. 

"  Mackimmon,"  said  the  boy  briefly,  "  he's  no  in  Ran- 
keiUor Street  ava'." 

The  hand  that  held  the  brush  went  back  in  act  to 
throw.  Now  this  was,  from  the  point  of  view  of  psycho- 
logical dynamics,  a  mistake  in  tactics.  A  woman  should 
never  attempt  to  throw  anything  in  controversy,  least  of 
all  a  brush.  Her  stronghold  is  to  advance  to  the  charge 
with  all  her  natural  weapons  and  vigour.  But  to  throw  a 
brush  is  to  abdicate  her  providential  advantages.  And  so 
Mistress  Roy  found. 

A  straight  line  is  the  shortest  distance  between  two 
points,  and  that  was  the  course  described  by  the  pound 
weight  on  which  Cleg  Kelly  dropped  his  hand.  It  sped 
fair  and  level  from  his  hand,  flung  low  as  he  had  many  a 
time  skimmed  stones  on  Saint  Margaret's  Loch  in  the 
hollow  under  the  Crags. 

^'Oicchr^  suddenly  said  Mistress  Roy,  taken,  as  she 
herself  said,  "in  the  short  of  the  wind."  The  hearth- 
brush  with  which  she  had  been  wont  to  correct  her  former 
message  boys  fell  helplessly  to  the  ground. 

"  Fetch  me  a  toothfu'  frae  the  back  0'  the  door.  Oh, 
ye  villain.  Cleg  Kelly !    I'm  a'  overcome  like ! "  she  said. 


54  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

Cleg  went  to  the  back  of  the  door  where  there  was  a 
keg  with  a  spigot.  He  brought  his  mistress  a  drink  in  a 
little  tinnikin. 

She  seemed  to  have  forgotten  to  be  angry,  and  bent 
her  brows  upon  him  more  pleasantly  than  she  had  yet 
done. 

"  I  thocht  that  ye  were  a  religious  boy,"  she  said. 

Cleg  stood  back  a  little  with  Mackimmon's  paper 
still  in  his  hand. 

"  Fund  wecht  for  besom  shank  is  good  religion,"  said 
the  imperfect  Christian  but  excellent  message-boy. 

"  Gang  and  deliver  that  paper ! "  Mistress  Koy  com- 
manded, again  looking  up. 

"  I  want  my  breakfast,"  said  Cleg,  with  an  air  of  sullen 
determination. 

His  mistress  looked  at  him  a  moment,  still  sitting  with 
the  tinnikin  of  undutied  whisky  in  her  hand,  and  occa- 
sionally taking  a  sip.     Cleg  eyed  her  level-fronted. 

She  gave  in  all  at  once. 

"  Tak'  the  knife  and  help  yoursel',"  she  said,  pointing 
to  a  loaf  and  a  piece  of  yellow  cheese. 

She  went  into  a  back  room. 

"  Get  up,  Jock,"  she  said,  giving  the  clothes  a  jerk 
over  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  seizing  a  water  can.  Her 
husband  rose  to  his  feet  on  the  floor  without  a  word. 
Thus  was  business  begun  in  Mistress  Koy's  paper-shop  on 
the  Pleasance. 

And  so  that  day  went  on,  the  first  of  many.  When 
Celie  Tennant  asked  Cleg  how  he  was  getting  on,  he  said, 
as  the  manner  of  his  kind  is,  "Fine!"  And  no  word 
more  could  she  get  out  of  him.  For  Cleg  was  not  a  boy 
to  complain.  His  father,  Timothy  Kelly,  was  safely  in 
gaol,  and  that  was  enough  to  give  Cleg  an  interest  in 
life.     Moreover,  he  could  save  some  of  his  three  shillings 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  SHEEMUS.  55 

a  week  to  give  to  Vara  Kavannah  to  help  her  with  the 
children. 

He  had  not  as  yet  taken  advantage  of  the  "  chance  of 
the  drawer  "  offered  by  Mr.  Koy.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  had  stuck  out  for  three  shillings  and  his  keep. 

Also,  as  the  advertisements  which  he  read  every  day  in 
the  papers  said,  he  meant  to  see  that  he  got  it. 

Vara  Kavannah  was  a  friend  of  Cleg's.  She  lived  with 
her  mother  in  a  poor  room  in  the  Tinklers'  Lands,  and 
tried  to  do  her  duty  by  her  little  baby  brother  Gavin  and  her 
younger  brother  Hugh.  Her  mother  was  a  friend  of  Mr. 
Timothy  Kelly's,  and  there  is  no  more  to  be  said.  The 
only  happy  time  for  all  of  them  was  when  both  Mr. 
Kelly,  senior,  and  Sal  Kavannah  were  provided  for  in  the 
gaol  on  the  Calton.  But  this  did  not  happen  often  at 
one  time.  When  it  did.  Cleg  went  up  the  long  stairs  and 
told  Vara.  Then  they  started  and  took  the  baby  and 
Hugh  for  a  long  walk  in  the  Queen's  Park.  Cleg  carried 
the  baby.  The  boys  of  his  own  age  did  not  mock  him 
to  his  face  for  doing  this.  The  Drabble  had  done  it 
once,  and  severely  regretted  it  for  several  days,  during 
which  time  his  face  conveyed  a  moral  lesson  to  all  be- 
holders. 

It  was  also  a  happy  time  for  Vara  Kavannah  when  her 
mother  was  safely  locked  up  on  a  long  sentence,  or  when 
for  some  weeks  she  disappeared  from  the  city.  Her  father, 
a  kindly,  weak  man,  stood  the  dog's  life  his  wife  led  him 
as  long  as  possible. 

Sheemus  Kavannah  was  a  poet.  The  heart  was  in 
him  which  tells  men  that  the  world  is  wide  and  fair.  He 
had  endured  his  wife  in  the  bitterness  of  his  heart,  till 
late  one  evening  he  rose,  and  with  his  wife  lying  on  the 
floor,  a  log,  he  awaked  his  little  lass.  There  were  tears 
streaming  down  his  cheeks.     His  daughter  started  from 


56  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

her  bed  with  her  hair  all  about  her.  She  was  used  to 
sudden  and  painful  wakenings. 

"  Vara,"  he  said,  speaking  in  Irish,  "  daughter  of  Shee- 
mus.  Vara  Kavannah,  hark  to  me.  Mavourneen,  my 
heart  is  broke  with  your  mother.  It's  no  good  at  all  to 
stay.  I  am  going  to  Liverpool  for  work,  and  when  I  get 
it  I  shall  come  back  and  take  you  away — you.  Vara,  and 
Hugh  and  little  Gavin.  Lonely  shall  my  road  be  and 
far.     But  I  shall  return,  I  shall  return  ! " 

Now  Vara,  being  bred  where  they  spoke  not  the  tongue 
of  the  old  country,  understood  nothing  but  the  last  words, 
"  I  shall  return,  I  shall  return ! " 

So  it  was  in  this  way  that  Cleg  Kelly  became  father 
and  mother  to  the  little  company  of  three  in  the  Tink- 
lers' Lands. 

As  he  went  on  the  way  of  his  duty,  he  found  out  some 
things  about  the  business  capacity  of  Mistress  Koy  that 
would  have  astonished  the  police.  He  had,  in  the  impet- 
uous ardour  of  youth,  cleared  away  the  accumulated  pa- 
pers on  the  floor,  and  raided  the  swarming  cockroaches. 

"  Hullo,  mother,  what's  the  matter  here  ?  "  cried  one 
of  the  customers  of  the  place,  coming  to  Mistress  Eoy, 
who  sat  in  the  little  den  at  the  back. 

"  Naething,"  said  that  lady.  "  It's  only  that  daft  lad- 
die. He  disna  think  I  gie  him  aneuch  to  do,  so  he's 
ta'en  to  finding  wark  for  himsel'." 

The  customer,  a  burly,  clean-shaven  man,  took  a 
long  look  at  Cleg. 

"  Tim  Kelly's  kid,"  said  the  woman,  by  way  of  ex- 
planation. 

The  man  whistled — a  long,  mellow  whistle — with  an 
odd  turn  at  the  end. 

"  No,"  said  Mistress  Eoy,  shaking  her  head,  "  the  lad's 
square.     And  what's  mair,  I'm  no  gaun  to  hae  him  med- 


THE  WARMING  OP  THE   DRABBLE.  57 

died.  He's  the  first  boy  that  ever  took  oot  the  papers 
without  cheatin'."  A  good  character  is  a  yaluable  asset, 
even  in  a  shebeen. 


ADVENTUKE  IX. 

THE   WAEMINa   OF  THE   DKABBLE. 

The  Kavannahs  lived  in  the  Tinklers'  Lands  at  the 
foot  of  Davie  Dean's  Street.  That  was  where  Sheemus 
Kavannah  left  them  when  he  went  to  Liverpool  to  seek 
work.  Originally  they  had  lived  on  the  second  floor  of 
this  great  rabbit-warren  of  a  land,  but  now  they  had  sunk 
till  they  occupied  one  room  of  the  cellar.  Their  sole 
light  came  from  an  iron  grating  let  into  the  pavement. 

The  Kavannahs  had  no  furniture.  It  was  just  pos- 
sible for  Vara  to  get  some  little  things  together  during 
the  periods  when  her  mother  was  under  the  care  of  the 
authorities.  But  as  soon  as  Sal  Kavannah  came  out, 
everything  that  would  sell  or  pawn  was  instantly  dissolved 
into  whisky. 

At  all  times  it  was  a  sore  battle  in  the  Tinklers' 
Lands,  for  these  were  the  days  before  city  improvements. 
In  his  wildest  days  Cleg  Kelly  had  always  befriended  the 
Kavannahs,  and  he  had  been  as  much  Vara's  friend  on 
the  sly  as  a  boy  could  be  who  valued  the  good  opinion  of 
his  companions.  But  when  Cleg  grew  stronger  in  his 
muscles  and  less  amenable  to  public  opinion,  he  publicly 
announced  that  he  would  "  warm  "  any  boy  who  said  a 
word  to  him  about  the  Kavannahs. 

One  day  he  heard  that  Archie  Drabble  had  kicked 
over  the  Kavannahs'  family  bed,  and  left  it  lying,  when 
Vara  was  out  getting  some  things  for  the  children.  Cleg 
5 


58  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

started  out  to  look  up  the  Drabble.  He  had  formerly 
had  an  interview  with  that  gentleman,  which  has  been 
chronicled  elsewhere.*  Cleg  Kelly  was  on  the  way  to 
reformation  now,  so  would  not  kick  him.  But  as  a  faith- 
ful friend  he  would  "  warm  "  him  for  his  soul's  good. 
Cleg  did  not  mind  doing  this.  It  was  a  congenial  sphere 
of  Christian  work. 

The  Drabble  was  found  trying  to  steal  collars  off  a 
clothes-line  at  the  back  of  Arthur  Street.  Cleg  Kelly 
had  no  objections  to  this  feat.  He  was  not  a  policeman, 
and  if  the  Drabble  wished  to  get  into  the  lock-up,  it  was 
not  his  business.  But  first  of  all  he  must  settle  the  mat- 
ter of  the  Kavannahs'  bed.  After  that  the  Drabble,  an  it 
liked  him,  might  steal  all  the  collars  in  the  Pleasance. 

"  Drabble,"  cried  Cleg,  "  come  here,  I  want  ye  !  " 

"  Want  away,"  cried  the  Drabble,  "  gang  and  say  yer 
prayers ! " 

This  was  intended  for  an  insult,  and  so  Cleg  took  it. 

"  Ye  had  better  say  yours  !  "  he  retorted.  "  When  I 
catch  you  it'll  no  be  ordinar'  prayers  that  will  help 
you ! " 

Cleg  had  a  disbelief  in  the  efficacy  of  the  prayers  of 
the  wicked  which  was  thoroughly  orthodox.  The  Drabble 
was  of  the  wicked.  Once  he  had  thrown  mud  at  a  Sun- 
day school  teacher.  Cleg  only  threw  snow,  as  soft  as  he 
could  get  it. 

There  was  a  wall  between  Cleg  and  the  Drabble,  a  wall 
with  a  place  for  your  toes.  With  his  boots  off  Cleg  could 
have  shinned  up  like  a  cat.  But  three-shilling  boots  with 
toe  caps  are  tender  things  and  need  to  be  treated  with 
respect.     Whereupon  Cleg  had  resort  to  guile. 

"  Hae  ye  seen  the  last  number  o' '  Gory  Dick,  the  Des- 

*  The  Sticldt  Minister^  10th  edition,  p.  153. 


THE  WARMING  OF  THE  DRABBLE.  59 

prader  of  the  Prairies,'  Drabble?"  cried  Cleg  over  the 
wall. 

"  Gae  'way,  man,  an'  eat  sawdust,  you  paper  boy ! " 
cried  the  Drabble  over  the  wall. 

The  Drabble  was  of  the  more  noble  caste  of  the 
sneak  thief.  He  had  still  his  eye  on  the  collars.  Cleg 
raged  impotently.     All  his  Irishry  boiled  within  him. 

"  Be  the  powers,  Archie  Drabble,  wait  till  I  catch 
ye.  I'll  not  leave  a  leevin'  creature  on  ye  from  head 
tofut!" 

The  completeness  of  this  threat  might  have  intimi- 
dated the  Drabble,  but  he  was  on  the  safe  side  of  the 
wall,  and  only  laughed.  He  had  a  vast  contempt  for 
Cleg,  inasmuch  as  he  had  forsaken  the  good  and  distin- 
guished ways  of  Timothy  Kelly,  his  father,  and  taken  to 
missions  and  Sunday  schools.  Cleg  foamed  in  helpless 
fury  at  the  foot  of  the  wall.  He  grew  to  hate  his  boots 
and  his  mended  clothes,  in  his  great  desire  to  get  at 
the  Drabble.  To  the  original  sin  with  regard  to  the  bed 
of  the  Kavannahs,  the  Drabble  had  now  added  many  ac- 
tual transgressions.  Cleg  was  the  vindicator  of  justice, 
and  he  mentally  arranged  to  a  nicety  where  and  how  he 
would  punch  the  Drabble. 

But  just  then  the  Drabble  came  over  the  wall  at  a  run. 
He  had  been  spotted  from  a  distance  by  an  active  young 
officer.  Constable  Gilchrist,  who  was  noted  for  his  zeal  in 
providing  for  the  youth  of  the  south  side.  The  Drabble 
dropped  to  the  ground  like  a  cat,  with  the  drawn  pale 
face  and  furtive  eyes  which  told  Cleg  that  the  "  poliss  " 
were  after  him. 

Without  doubt  Cleg  ought  to  have  given  the  offender 
up  to  justice,  as  a  matter  of  private  duty.  He  might  thus 
have  settled  his  own  private  matters  with  the  pursued. 
But  the  traditional  instincts  of  the  outlaw  held.     And, 


60  CLEG   I0:LLY,  ARAB   OF   THE  CITY. 

seeing  the  double  look  which  the  Drabble  turned  up  and 
down  the  street,  he  said  softly — 

"  Here,  Drabble ;  help  me  to  deliver  thae  papers." 

The  Drabble  glanced  at  Cleg  to  make  out  if  he  meant 
to  sell  him  to  justice.  That  was  indeed  almost  an  impos- 
sibility. But  the  Drabble  did  not  know  how  far  the  evil 
communications  of  Sunday  schools  might  have  corrupted 
the  original  good  manners  of  the  Captain  of  the  Sooth- 
Back  Gang. 

However,  there  was  that  in  Cleg's  face  which  gave 
him  confidence.  The  Drabble  grabbed  the  papers  and 
was  found  busily  delivering  them  up  one  side  of  the 
street  while  Cleg  Kelly  took  the  other,  when  Constable 
Gilchrist,  reinforced  by  a  friend,  came  in  sight  over  the 
wall  by  the  aid  of  a  clothes-prop  and  the  nicks  in  the 
stones. 

Kow  the  peaceful  occupation  of  delivering  evening 
newspapers  is  not  a  breach  of  the  peace  nor  yet  a  contra- 
vention of  the  city  bylaws.  Constable  Gilchrist  was  dis- 
appointed. He  was  certain  that  he  had  seen  that  boy 
"  loitering  with  intent " ;  but  here  he  was  peacefully  pur- 
suing a  lawful  avocation.  The  Drabble  had  a  reason,  or 
at  least  an  excuse,  for  being  on  the  spot.  So  the  chase 
was  in  vain,  and  Constable  Gilchrist  knew  it.  But  his 
companion  was  not  so  easily  put  off  the  scent. 

"  Cleg  Kelly,"  he  cried,  "  I  see  you ;  hae  you  a  care, 
my  son,  or  you'll  end  up  alongside  of  your  father." 

"Thank  ye,  sir,"  said  Cleg  Kelly.  "Buy  a  News^ 
sir?" 

"Be  off,  you  impudent  young  shaver!"  cried  the 
sergeant,  laughing. 

And  Cleg  went  off. 

"  That's  a  smart  boy,  and  doing  well,"  said  Constable 
Gilchrist. 


THE  WARMING  OP  THE  BRABBLE.  61 

"  Decent  enough,"  returned  the  sergeant,  "  but  he's  in 
a  bad  shop  at  Eoy's,  and  he'll  get  no  good  from  that 
Drabble  loon ! " 

And  this  was  a  truth.  But  at  that  moment,  at  the 
back  of  the  Tinklers'  Lands,  the  Drabble  was  getting  much 
good  from  Cleg  Kelly.  Cleg  had  off  his  coat  and  the 
Drabble  was  being  "  warmed." 

"  That'll  learn  ye  to  touch  the  Kavannahs'  bed ! "  cried 
Cleg. 

And  the  Drabble  sat  down. 

"  That's  for  miscaain'  my  f aither ! " 

The  Drabble  sat  down  again  at  full  length. 

"That's  for  tellin'  me  to  say  my  prayers!  I  learn 
you  to  meddle  wi'  my  prayers !  " 

Thus  Cleg  upheld  the  Conscience  Clause. 

But  the  Drabble  soon  had  enough.  He  warded  Cleg 
off  with  a  knee  and  elbow,  and  stated  what  he  would  do 
when  he  met  him  again  on  a  future  unnamed  occasion. 

He  would  tell  his  big  brother,  so  he  would,  and  his 
big  brother  would  smash  the  face  of  all  the  Kellys  that 
ever  breathed. 

Cleg  was  not  to  be  outdone. 

"  I'll  tell  my  big  brother  o'  you.  Drabble.  He  can 
fecht  ten  polissmen,  and  he  could  dicht  the  street  wi' 
your  brither,  and  throw  him  ower  a  lamp-post  to  dry." 

Cleg  and  the  Drabble  felt  that  they  must  do  some- 
thing for  the  honour  of  their  respective  houses,  for  this 
sort  of  family  pride  is  a  noble  thing  and  much  practised 
in  genealogies. 

So,  pausing  every  ten  yards  to  state  what  their  several 
big  brothers  would  do,  and  with  the  fellest  intentions  as 
to  future  breaches  of  the  peace,  the  combatants  parted. 
The  afternoon  air  bore  to  the  Drabble  from  the  next 
street — 


62  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  You — let — the  KavannaJis — alane  frae  this  oot — or 
if  II  he  the  waur  for  you  !  " 

The  Drabble  rubbed  his  nose  on  his  sleeve,  and  thought 
that  on  the  whole  it  might  be  so. 

Then  he  took  out  three  papers  which  he  had  secreted 
up  his  sleeve,  and  went  joyfully  and  sold  them.  The 
Drabble  was  a  boy  of  resource.  Cleg  had  to  come  good 
for  these  papers  to  Mistress  Roy,  and  also  bear  her  tongue 
for  having  lost  them.  She  stopped  them  out  of  his 
wages.  Then  Cleg's  language  became  as  bad  as  that  of 
an  angry  Sunday  school  superintendent.  The  wise  men 
say  that  the  Scots  dialect  is  only  Early  English.  Cleg's 
was  that  kind,  but  debased  by  an  admixture  of  Later 
Decorated. 

He  merely  stated  what  he  meant  to  do  to  the  Drabble 
when  he  met  him  again.  But  the  statement  entered  so 
much  into  unnecessary  detail  that  there  is  no  need  to 
record  it  fully. 


ADYENTUEE  X. 

THE   SQUARIKG   OF   THE   POLICE. 

Cleg  was  free  and  barefoot.  His  father  was  "  in  "  for 
twelve  months.  Also  it  was  the  summer  season,  and  soft 
was  the  sun.  The  schools  were  shut — not  that  it  mat- 
tered much  as  to  that,  for  secular  education  was  not  much 
in  Cleg's  way,  compulsory  attendance  being  not  as  yet 
great  in  the  land.  Cleg  had  been  spending  the  morning 
roosting  on  railings  and  "  laying  for  softies  " — by  which 
he  meant  conversing  with  boys  in  nice  clean  jackets,  with 
nice  clean  manners,  whose  methods  of  war  and  whose 
habit  of  speech  were  not  Cleg's. 


THE  SQUARING  OF  THE  POLICE.  ^3 

Cleg  had  recently  entered  upon  a  new  contract  with 
the  mistress  of  Eoy's  paper  shop.  He  was  now  "  outdoor 
boy  "  instead  of  "  indoor  boy,"  and  he  was  glad  of  it.  He 
had  also  taken  new  lodgings.  For  when  the  police  took 
his  father  to  prison,  to  the  son's  great  relief  and  delight 
the  landlord  of  the  little  room  by  the  brickfield  had  cast 
the  few  sticks  of  furniture  and  ^  the  mattress  into  the 
street,  and,  as  he  said,  "  made  a  complete  clearance  of  the 
rubbish."     He  included  Cleg. 

But  it  was  not  so  easy  to  get  rid  of  Cleg,  for  the  boy 
had  his  private  hoards  in  every  crevice  and  behind  every 
rafter.  So  that  very  night,  with  the  root  of  a  candle 
which  he  borrowed  from  a  cellar  window  to  which  he  had 
access  (owing  to  his  size  and  agility),  he  went  back  and 
ransacked  his  late  home.  He  prised  up  the  boards  of  the 
floor.  He  tore  aside  the  laths  where  the  plaster  had  given 
way.  He  removed  the  plaster  itself  with  a  tenpenny  nail 
where  it  had  been  recently  mended.  He  tore  down  the 
entire  series  of  accumulated  papers  from  the  ceiling,  dis- 
turbing myriads  of  insects  both  active  and  sluggish  which 
do  not  need  to  be  further  particularised. 

*'  I'll  learn  auld  Skinflint  to  turn  my  faither's  prop- 
erty oot  on  the  street,"  said  Cleg,  his  national  instinct 
against  eviction  coming  strongly  upon  him.  "  I'll  wager 
I  can  make  this  place  so  that  the  man  what  built  it  winna 
ken  it  the  morn's  morning  !  " 

And  he  kept  his  word.  When  Nathan,  the  Jew  pawn- 
broker and  cheap  jeweller,  came  with  his  men  to  do  a 
little  cleaning  up,  the  scene  which  struck  them  on  en- 
tering, as  a  stone  strikes  the  face,  was,  as  the  reporters 
say,  simply  appalling.  The  flrst  step  Mr.  Nathan  took 
brought  down  the  ceiling-dust  and  its  inhabitants  in 
showers.  The  next  took  him,  so  far  as  his  legs  were  con- 
cerned, into  the  floor  beneath,  for  he  had  stepped  through 


64  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

a  hole,  in  which  Cleg  had  discovered  a  rich  deposit  of 
silver  spoons  marked  with  an  entire  alphabet  of  initials. 

The  police  inspector  was  summoned,  and  he,  in  his 
turn,  stood  in  amaze  at  the  destruction. 

"It's  that  gaol-bird,  young  Kelly!"  cried  Nathan, 
dancing  and  chirruping  in  his  inarticulate  wrath.  "  I'll 
have  him  lagged  for  it— sure  as  I  live." 

"  Aye  ?  "  said  the  inspector,  gravely.  He  had  his  own 
reasons  for  believing  that  Mr.  Nathan  would  do  nothing 
of  the  sort.  "  Meantime,  I  have  a  friend  who  will  be  in- 
terested in  this  place." 

And  straightway  he  went  down  and  brought  him. 
The  friend  was  the  Chief  Sanitary  Inspector,  a  medical 
man  of  much  emphasis  of  manner  and  abruptness  of 
utterance. 

"What's  this?  What's  this?  Clear  out  the  whole 
damnable  pig-hole  !  What  d^'ye  mean,  Jackson,  by  having 
such  a  sty  as  this  in  your  district  ?  Clean  it  out !  Tear 
it  down !  It's  like  having  seven  bulls  of  Bashan  in  one 
stable.  Never  saw  such  a  hog's  mess  in  my  life.  Clear  it 
out !     Clear  it  out ! " 

The  miserable  Nathan  wrung  his  hands,  and  hopped 
about  like  a  hen. 

"  Oh,  Doctor  Christopher,  I  shall  have  it  put  in  beau- 
tiful order — beautiful  order.  Everything  shall  be  done 
in  the  besht  style,  I  do  assure  you " 

"  Best  style,  stuff  and  nonsense !  Tear  it  down — gut 
it  out — take  it  all  away  and  bury  it.  I'll  send  men  to- 
morrow morning  1 "  cried  the  doctor,  decidedly. 

And  Dr.  Christopher  departed  at  a  dog-trot  to  investi- 
gate a  misbehaving  trap  in  a  drain  at  Coltbridge. 

The  police  inspector  laughed. 

"  Are  you  still  in  a  mind  to  prosecute  young  Kelly, 
Mr.  Nathan  ?  "  he  said. 


'  1  shall  be  ruined  ! " 


THE  SQUARING  OF  THE  POLICE.  65 

But  the  grief  and  terror  of  the  pawnbroker  were  be- 
yond words.  He  sat  down  on  the  narrow  stair,  and  laid 
his  head  between  his  hands. 

"  I  shall  be  ruined — ruined !  I  took  the  place  for  a 
debt.  I  never  got  a  penny  of  rent  for  it,  and  now  to  be 
made  to  spend  money  upon  it " 

The  police  inspector  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  If  I  were  you,  Nathan,"  he  said,  "  I  should  get  this 
put  in  order.  If  it  is  true  that  you  got  no  rent  for  this 
place,  the  melting-pot  in  your  back  cellar  got  plenty." 

"  It's  a  lie — a  lie  ! "  cried  the  little  man,  getting  up  as 
if  stung.     "  It  was  never  proved.     I  got  off ! " 

"  Aye,"  said  the  inspector,  "  ye  got  off  ?  But  though 
'^Not  proven'  clears  a  man  o'  the  Calton  gaol,  it  keeps 
him  on  our  books." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  little  Jew,  clapping  his  hands  as 
if  he  were  summoning  slaves  in  the  Arabian  Nights,  "  it 
shall  be  done.     I  shall  attend  to  it  at  once." 

And  the  inspector  went  out  into  the  street,  laughing 
so  heartily  within  him  that  more  than  once  something 
like  the  shadow  of  a  grin  crossed  the  stern  official  face 
which  covered  so  much  kindliness  from  the  ken  of  the 
world. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  was  that  Cleg  Kelly  had 
squared  the  police.  It  is  a  strange  thing  to  say,  for  the 
force  of  the  city  is  composed  of  men  staunchly  incor- 
ruptible. I  have  tried  it  myself  and  know.  The  Edin- 
burgh police  has  been  honourably  distinguished  first  by 
an  ambition  to  prevent  crime,  to  catch  the  criminal  next, 
and,  lastly,  to  care  for  the  miserable  women  and  children 
whom  nearly  every  criminal  drags  to  infamy  in  his  wake. 

Yet  with  all  these  honourable  titles  to  distinction, 
upon  this  occasion  the  police  had  certainly  been  squared, 
and  that  by  Cleg  Kelly.     And  in  this  wise. 


QQ  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE   CITY. 

When  Cleg  had  finished  his  search  through  the  recep- 
tacles of  his  father  and  his  own  hidie-holes,  he  found 
himself  in  possession  of  as  curious  a  collection  of  miscel- 
laneous curiosities  as  might  stock  a  country  museum  or 
set  a  dealer  in  old  junk  up  in  business.  There  were  many 
spoons  of  silver,  and  a  few  of  Britannia  metal  which  his 
father  had  brought  away  in  mistake,  or  because  he  was 
pressed  for  time  and  hated  to  give  trouble.  There  were 
forks  whole,  and  forks  broken  at  the  handle  where  the  in- 
itials ought  to  have  come,  teapots  with  the  leaves  still 
within  them,  the  toddy  bowl  of  a  city  magnate — with  an 
inscription  setting  forth  that  it  had  been  presented  to 
Bailie  Porter  for  twenty  years  of  efficient  service  in  the 
department  of  cleaning  and  lighting,  and  also  in  recogni- 
tion of  his  uniform  courtesy  and  abundant  hospitality. 
There  were  also  delicate  ormulu  clocks,  and  nearly  a  score 
of  watches,  portly  verge,  slim  Geneva,  and  bluff  service- 
able English  lever. 

Cleg  brought  one  of  his  mother's  wicker  clothes- 
baskets  which  had  been  tossed  out  on  the  street  by  Mr. 
E'athan's  men  the  day  before,  and,  putting  a  rich  Indian 
shawl  in  the  bottom  to  stop  the  crevices,  he  put  into  it 
all  the  spoil,  except  such  items  as  belonged  strictly  to 
himself,  and  with  which  the  nimble  fingers  of  his  father 
had  had  no  connection. 

Such  were  the  top  half  of  a  brass  candlestick,  which 
he  had  himself  found  in  an  ash-backet  on  the  street.  He 
remembered  the  exact  "  backet."  It  was  in  front  of  old 
Kermack,  the  baker's,  and  he  had  had  to  fight  a  big  dog  to 
get  possession,  because  the  brass  at  the  top  being  covered 
with  the  grease,  the  dog  considered  the  candlestick  a  de- 
sirable article  of  vertu.  There  was  a  soap-box,  for  which 
he  had  once  fought  a  battle  ;  the  basin  he  used  for  drag- 
ging about  by  a  string  on  the  pavement,  with  hideous 


THE  SQUARING  OF  THE  POLICE.  67 

outcries,  whenever  the  devil  within  made  it  necessary  for 
him  to  produce  the  most  penetrating  and  objectionable 
noise  he  could  think  of.  There  was  (his  most  valuable 
possession)  a  bright  brass  harness  rein-holder,  for  which 
the  keeper  of  a  livery  stable  had  offered  him  five  shillings 
if  he  would  bring  the  pair,  or  sixpence  for  the  single  one 
— an  offer  which  Cleg  had  declined,  but  which  had  made 
him  ever  after  cherish  the  rein-holder  as  worth  more  than 
all  the  jewellers'  shops  on  Princes  Street. 

These  and  other  possessions  to  which  his  title 
was  incontrovertible  he  laid  aside  for  conveyance  to 
his  new  home,  an  old  construction  hut  which  now  lay 
neglected  in  a  builder's  yard  near  the  St.  Leonards 
Station. 

All  the  other  things  Cleg  took  straight  over  to  the 
police-office  near  the  brickfield,  where  his  friend,  the 
sergeant's  wife,  held  up  her  hands  at  sight  of  them.  Nor 
did  she  call  her  husband  till  she  had  been  assured  that 
Cleg  had  had  personally  nothing  to  do  with  the  collection 
of  them. 

When  the  sergeant  came  in  his  face  changed  and  his 
eyes  glittered,  for  here  was  stolen  property  in  abundance, 
of  which  the  Chief — that  admirable  gentleman  of  the 
quiet  manners  and  the  limitless  memory — had  long  ago 
given  up  all  hope. 

"  Ah !  if  only  the  young  rascal  had  brought  us  these 
things  before  Tim's  trial,  I  would  have  got  him  twenty 
years ! "  said  the  Chief. 

But  though  Cleg  Kelly  hated  and  despised  his  father, 
his  hatred  did  not  quite  go  that  length.  He  did  not  love 
the  police  for  their  own  sak^,  though  he  was  friendly 
enough  with  many  of  the  individual  officers,  and,  in  es- 
pecial, with  the  sergeant's  wife,  who  gave  him  "  pieces " 
in  memory  of  his  mother,  and,  being  a  woman,  also  per- 


68  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

haps  a  little  in  memory  of  what  his  father  had  once  seemed 
to  her. 

Cleg  did  not  stay  to  be  asked  many  questions  as  to 
how  he  came  into  possession  of  so  many  valuables.  He 
had  found  them,  he  said ;  but  he  could  not  be  induced  to 
condescend  upon  the  particulars  of  the  discovery. 

So  the  sergeant  was  forced  to  be  content.  But  ever 
after  this  affair  it  was  quite  evident  that  Cleg  was  a  privi- 
leged person,  and  did  not  come  within  Mr.  Nathan's  power 
of  accusation.  So  it  was  manifest  that  Cleg  Kelly  had 
corrupted  the  incorruptible,  and  crowned  his  exploits  by 
squaring  the  metropolitan  police. 


ADVEIS^TURE   XL 

THE   BOY   Iiq-  THE   WOODEi^"   HUT. 

The  wooden  hut  where  Cleg  had  taken  up  his  abode 
was  on  the  property  of  a  former  landlord,  who  in  his  time 
had  tired  of  Tim  Kelly  as  a  tenant,  and  had  insisted  upon 
his  removal,  getting  his  office  safe  broken  into  in  conse- 
quence. But  Mr.  Callendar  had  never  been  unkind  to 
Isbel  and  Cleg.  So  the  boy  had  kindly  memories  of  the 
builder,  and  especially  he  remembered  the  smell  of  the 
pine  shavings  as  Callendar's  men  planed  deal  boards  to 
grain  for  mahogany.  The  scent  struck  Cleg  as  the  clean- 
est thing  he  had  ever  smelled  in  his  life. 

So,  with  the  help  of  an  apprentice  joiner,  he  set  up  the 
old  construction  hut,  which,  having  been  used  many  years 
ago  in  the  making  of  the  new  coal  sidings  at  the  St.  Leon- 
ards Station,  had  been  thrown  aside  at  the  end  of  the  job, 
and  never  broken  up. 


THE  BOY  IN  THE  WOODEN   HUT.  ^9 

The  builder  saw  Cleg  flitting  hither  and  thither  about 
the  yard,  but,  being  accustomed  to  such  visitors,  he  took 
no  great  notice  of  the  boy,  till  one  day,  poking  about 
among  some  loose  rubbish  and  boards  at  the  back  of  his 
yard,  he  happened  to  glance  at  the  old  hut.  Great  was 
his  astonishment  to  see  it  set  on  its  end,  a  window  frame 
too  large  for  the  aperture  secured  on  the  outside  with 
large  nails  driven  in  at  the  corners,  a  little  fringe  of  soil 
scraped  roughly  about  it  as  if  a  brood  of  chickens  had 
worked  their  way  round  the  hut,  and  a  few  solitary  daisies 
dibbled  into  the  loose  earth,  lying  over  on  their  sides,  in 
spite  of  the  small  ration  of  water  which  had  been  carefully 
served  out  to  each. 

Thomas  Callendar  stood  a  moment  gathering  his  senses. 
He  had  a  callant  of  his  own  who  might  conceivably  have 
been  at  the  pains  to  establish  a  summer-house  in  his  yard. 
But  then  James  was  at  present  at  the  seaside  with  his 
mother.  The  builder  went  round  the  little  hut,  and  at 
the  further  side  he  came  upon  Cleg  Kelly  dribbling  water 
upon  the  wilting  daisies  from  a  broken  brown  teapot,  and 
holding  on  the  lid  with  his  other  hand. 

"  Mercy  on  us !  what  are  ye  doing  here,  callant  ?"  cried 
the  astonished  builder. 

Cleg  Kelly  stood  up  with  the  teapot  in  his  hand,  tak- 
ing care  to  keep  the  lid  on  as  he  did  so.  His  life  was  so 
constant  a  succession  of  surprises  provided  against  by 
watchfulness  that  hardly  even  an  earthquake  would  have 
taken  him  unprepared. 

He  balanced  the  teapot  in  one  hand,  and  with  the  other 
he  pulled  at  his  hat-brim  to  make  his  manners. 

"  If  ye  please,  sir,"  he  said,  "  they  turned  me  oot 
at  the  brickyaird,  and  I  brocht  the  bits  o'  things 
here.  I  kenned  ye  wadna  send  me  away,  Maister  Cal- 
lendar." 


70  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  How  kenned  ye  that  I  wadna  turn  ye  away,  boy  ?  " 
said  the  builder. 

"  Oh,  I  juist  prefarred  to  come  back  here,  at  ony  rate," 
said  Cleg. 

"  But  why  ?  "  persisted  Mr.  Callendar. 

Cleg  scratched  the  turned-up  earth  of  his  garden 
thoughtfully  with  his  toe. 

"  Weel,"  he  said,  "  if  ye  maun  ken,  it  was  because  I 
had  raither  lippen  *  to  the  deil  I  ken  than  to  the  deil  I 
dinna  ken ! " 

The  builder  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"  So  ye  think  me  a  deil  ?  "  he  asked,  making  believe  to 
cut  at  the  boy  with  the  bit  of  planed  moulding  he  was 
carrying  in  his  hand  with  black  pencil-marks  at  intervals 
upon  it  as  a  measuring-rod. 

"  Ow,  it's  juist  a  mainner  o'  speaking ! "  said  Cleg, 
glancing  up  at  Mr.  Callendar  with  twinkling  eyes.  He 
knew  that  permission  to  bide  was  as  good  as  granted. 
The  builder  came  and  looked  within.  The  hut  was 
whitewashed  inside,  and  the  black  edges  of  the  boards 
made  transverse  lines  across  the  staring  white. 

Cleg  explained. 

"  I  didna  steal  the  whitewash,"  he  said ;  "  I  got  it 
f rae  Andrew  Heslop  for  helpin'  him  wi'  his  lime-mixing. 

"It's  a  fine  healthsome,  heartsome  smell,"  the  boy 
went  on,  noticing  that  the  builder  was  sniffing.  "  Oh, 
man,  it's  the  tar  that  ye  smell,"  he  again  broke  in.  "  I'm 
gaun  to  tar  it  on  the  ootside.  It  keeps  the  weather  off 
famous.  I  gat  the  tar  frae  a  watchman  at  the  end  o'  the 
Lothian  Koad,  where  they  are  laying  a  new  kind  o'  pave- 
ment wi'  an  awsome  smell." 

The  interior  of  the  hut  was  shelved,  and  upon  a  pair 

*  Trust. 


THE  BOY  IN  THE   WOODEN  HUT.  71 

of  old  trestles  was  a  good  new  mattress.  The  builder 
looked  curiously  at  it. 

"  It  was  the  Pleasance  student  missionary  got  it  in  for 
my  mither  to  lie  on  afore  she  died,"  said  Cleg  in  expla- 
nation. 

"  Aye,  and  your  mither  is  awa,"  said  the  builder ;  "  it's 
a  release." 

"  Aye,  it  is  that,"  said  Cleg,  from  whose  young  heart 
sorrow  of  his  mother's  death  had  wholly  passed  away. 
He  was  not  callous,  but  he  was  old-fashioned  and  world- 
experienced  enough  to  recognise  facts  frankly.  It  was  a 
release  indeed  for  Isbel  Kelly. 

"  Weel,"  said  the  builder,  "  mind  ye  behave  yoursel'. 
Bring  nae  wild  gilravage  o'  loons  here,  or  oot  ye  gang." 

"  Hearken  ye,  Maister,"  said  Cleg.  "  There's  no  a  boy 
atween  Henry  Place  an'  the  Sooth  Back  that  wull  daur  to 
show  the  ill-favoured  face  o'  him  within  your  muckle  yett. 
I'll  be  the  best  watch  that  ever  ye  had,  Maister  Callendar. 
See  if  I'm  no  !  " 

The  builder  smiled  as  he  went  away.  He  took  the 
measuring-rod  of  white  moulding  in  his  hand,  and  looked 
at  the  marks  to  recall  what  particular  business  he  had 
been  employed  upon.  But  even  as  he  did  so  a  thought 
struck  him.     He  turned  back. 

"  Mind  you,"  he  said  to  Cleg,  "  the  first  time  that  ye 
bring  the  faither  o'  ye  aboot  my  yaird,  to  the  curb-stane 
ye  gang  wi'  a'  your  traps  and  trantlums  ! " 

Cleg  peeped  elvishly  out  of  his  citadel. 

"  My  faither,"  he  said,  "  is  snug  in  a  far  grander  hoose 
than  yours  or  mine,  Maister  Callendar.  He  has  ta'en  the 
accommodation  for  a  year,  and  gotten  close  wark  frae  the 
Gowvernment  a'  the  time  ! " 

"What  mean  ye?"  said  the  builder;  "your  faither 
never  reformed  ?  " 


72  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  Na,  no  that,"  answered  Cleg ;  "  but  he  got  a  year  for 
ganging  intil  anither  man's  hoose  without  speering  his 
leave.  And  I  was  there  and  saw  the  judge  gie  him  a 
tongue-dressing  afore  he  spoke  oot  the  sentence.  '  One 
year ! '  says  he.  '  Make  it  three,  my  Lord ! '  says  I  f rae 
the  back  of  the  coort.  So  they  ran  me  oot;  but  my 
f aither  kenned  wha  it  was,  for  he  cried,  '  May  hunger, 
sickness,  and  trouble  suck  the  life  from  ye,  ye  bloodsuck- 
ing son  of  my  sorrow !  Wait  till  I  get  hoult  o'  ye !  I'll 
make  ye  melt  off  the  earth  like  the  snow  oif  a  dyke,  son 
o'  mine  though  ye  are  ! '  " 

The  respectable  builder  stood  aghast. 

"  And  your  ain  f aither  said  the  like  o'  that  till  ye  ?  " 
he  asked,  with  a  look  of  awe  in  his  face  as  if  he  had  been 
listening  to  blasphemy.  "And  what  did  you  say  to 
him?" 

"  Faith !  I  only  said,  '  I  hope  ye'll  like  the  oakum, 
f aither  ! '  " 


ADVENTUEE  XIL 

VARA    KAYAJ^KAH   OF  THE   TIN^KLERS'   LANDS. 

Cleg  having  finished  his  dispositions,  shut  to  his 
door,  and  barred  it  with  a  cunning  bolt,  shot  with  string, 
which  he  had  constructed  till  he  should  be  able  to  find  an 
old  lock  to  manipulate  with  the  craft  inherited  from  his 
father.  Then  he  set  forth  for  the  Tinklers'  Lands,  to 
visit  his  friends  the  Kavannahs.  He  had  delivered  his 
papers  in  the  early  morning,  and  now  he  was  free  till 
the  evening.  For  since  a  threatened  descent  of  the  police, 
Mistress  Roy,  that  honest  merchant,  had  discouraged 
Cleg  from  "  hanging  round  "  after  his  work  was  finished. 


VARA  KAVANNAH  OP  THE  TINKLERS'  LANDS.   73 

She  attempted  to  do  the  discouraging  with  a  broomstick 
or  anything  else  that  came  handy.  But  Cleg  was  far  too 
active  to  be  struck  by  a  woman.  And,  turning  upon  his 
mistress  with  a  sudden  flash  of  teeth  like  the  grin  of  a 
wild  cat,  he  sent  that  lady  back  upon  the  second  line  of 
her  defences — into  the  little  back  shop  where  that  peculiar 
company  assembled  which  gave  to  Roy's  paper-shop  its 
other  quality  of  shebeen. 

Cleg  had  just  reached  the  arched  gateway  which  led 
into  the  builder's  yard,  when  he  saw,  pottering  along  the 
sidewalk  twenty  yards  before  him  the  squat,  bandy-legged 
figure  of  his  late  landlord,  Mr.  Nathan.  He  had  been  go- 
ing the  round  of  the  builders,  endeavouring  to  discover 
which  of  them  would  effect  the  repairs  of  Tim  Kelly's 
mansion  at  the  least  expense,  and  at  the  same  time  be 
prepared  to  satisfy  the  fiery  Inspector  of  Sanitation. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  and  as  a  mere  matter 
of  duty.  Cleg  bent  his  head,  and,  running  full-tilt  between 
his  late  landlord's  legs,  he  overset  him  on  the  pavement 
and  shot  ahead  on  his  way  to  make  his  morning  call  on 
the  Kavannahs.  The  fulfilment  of  healthy  natural  func- 
tion required  that  a  well-conducted  boy  of  good  principles 
should  cheek  a  policeman  and  overset  a  Jew  landlord 
whenever  met  with.  In  such  a  war  there  could  be  no 
truce  or  parley. 

Tinklers'  Lands  was  in  one  of  the  worst  parts  of  the 
city.  Davie  Dean's  Street  goes  steeply  down  hill,  and  has 
apparently  carried  all  its  inhabitants  with  it.  Tinklers' 
Lands  is  quite  at  the  foot,  and  the  inhabitants  have  come 
so  low  that  they  can  fear  no  further  fall.  The  Kavan- 
nahs, as  has  been  said,  dwelt  in  the  cellar  of  the  worst 
house  in  Tinklers'  Lands. 

Cleg  ran  down  into  the  area  and  bent  over  the 
grating. 


74  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

"  Vara ! "  he  cried,  making  a  trumpet  of  the  bars  and 
his  hands. 

"  Aye,  Cleg,  is  that  you  ?  "  said  Vara.  "  She^s  oot ;  ye 
can  come  in." 

So  Cleg  trotted  briskly  down  the  slimy  black  steps, 
from  which  the  top  hand-rail  had  long  since  vanished. 
The  stumpy  palings  themselves  would  also  have  disap- 
peared if  they  had  been  anything  else  than  cast  metal,  a 
material  which  can  neither  be  burned  nor  profitably  dis- 
posed of  to  the  old  junk  man. 

Vara  met  him  at  the  foot.  She  was  a  pleasant,  round- 
faced,  merry-eyed  girl  of  ten — or,  rather,  she  would  have 
been  round-faced  but  for  the  pitiful  drawing  about  the 
mouth  and  the  frightened  look  with  which  she  seemed  to 
shrink  back  at  any  sudden  movement  near  her.  As  Cleg 
arrived  at  the  door  of  the  cellar  a  foul,  dank  smell  rose 
from  the  depths  to  meet  him ;  and  he,  fresh  from  the  air 
and  cleanliness  of  his  own  new  abode  among  the  shav- 
ings and  the  chips,  noticed  it  as  he  would  not  have 
done  had  he  come  directly  from  the  house  by  the  brick- 
field. 

"  She  gaed  awa'  last  nicht  wi'  an  ill  man,"  said  Vara, 
"  and  I  hae  seen  nocht  o'  her  since." 

Vara  Kavannah  spoke  of  Sheemus  Kavannah  as 
"  faither,"  but  always  of  her  mother  as  "  she."  To-day 
the  girl  had  her  fair  hair  done  up  in  a  womanly  net  and 
stowed  away  on  the  top  of  her  head.  When  one  has  the 
cares  of  a  house  and  family,  it  is  necessary  to  dress  in  a 
grown-up  fashion.  Indeed,  in  some  of  her  moods,  when 
the  trouble  of  Hugh  and  the  baby  lay  heavy  on  her.  Vara 
looked  like  a  little  old  woman,  as  if  she  had  been  her  own 
fairy  godmother  fallen  upon  evil  times. 

But  to-day  she  had  her  head  also  tied  in  a  napkin, 
rolled  white  and  smooth  about  her  brows.     Cleg  glanced 


VARA  KAVANNAH   OF  THE  TINKLERS'  LANDS.  75 

at  it  with  tlie  quick  comprehension  which  comes  from  a 
kindred  bitterness. 

"  Her  ?  "  he  queried,  as  much  with  his  thumb  and  eye- 
brow as  with  his  voice. 

"  Aye,"  said  Vara,  looking  down  at  the  floor,  for  in 
the  Lands  such  occurrences  were  not  spoken  of  outside 
the  family ;  "  yestreen." 

Hearing  the  voices  at  the  door,  little  Hugh,  Vara's 
brother  of  four,  came  toddling  unevenly  upon  legs  which 
ought  to  have  been  chubby,  but  which  were  only  feeble 
and  uncertain.  He  had  one  hand  wrapped  in  a  piece  of 
white  rag ;  and,  whenever  he  remembered,  he  carried  it 
in  his  other  hand  and  wept  over  it  with  a  sad,  wearying 
whimper. 

Cleg  again  looked  his  query  at  Vara. 

"  Aye,"  said  the  girl,  her  eyes  lighting  this  time  with 
a  glint  of  anger ;  "  the  bairn  toddled  to  her  when  she 
cam'  hame,  and  he  asked  for  a  bit  piece.  And  wi'  that 
she  took  him  and  gied  him  a  fling  across  the  floor,  and  he 
hurt  his  airm  on  the  corner  of  the  bed." 

And  Cleg,  though  he  had  given  up  swearing,  swore. 

"  The  wean's  asleep  !  "  said  Vara ;  "  speak  quietly." 

And  upon  tiptoe  she  led  the  way.  The  dusk  of  the 
cellar  was  so  dense  and  the  oppression  of  the  foul  air  so 
terrible  that  had  not  Cleg  been  to  the  manner  born,  he 
could  hardly  have  reached  the  little  crib  where  the  baby 
lay  huddled  among  swathings  of  old  petticoats  and  bits  of 
flannel,  while  underneath  was  a  layer  of  hay. 

Vara  stood  gazing  with  inexpressible  rapture  at  the 
babe. 

"  Isna  he  bonny — ^bonny  ?  " 

She  clasped  her  hands  as  she  spoke,  and  looked  for 
the  answering  admiration  in  Cleg's  face. 

"Aye,"  said  Cleg,  who  knew  what  was  demanded  of 


76  CLEG   KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

him  if  he  expected  to  remain  Vara  Kavannah's  friend ; 
"  he's  juist  terrible  bonny — elegant  as  a  pictur' ! " 

He  had  heard  his  father  say  that  of  a  new  "  jemmy." 

In  truth,  the  babe  was  but  skin  and  bone,  with  the 
drawn  face  of  a  mummy  of  five  thousand  years — and  tiny 
hands,  prehensile  like  those  of  a  monkey. 

"  Vara,"  said  Cleg,  "  ye  canna  bide  here.  I  maun  get 
ye  awa'.  This  is  no  to  be  tholed.  What  hae  ye  had  to 
eat  the  day?" 

"  We  had  some  broth  that  a  neighbour  brocht  in  yes- 
terday, and  some  fish.  But  the  fish  was  bad,"  said  Vara, 
flushing  and  hesitating  even  to  say  these  things  to  Cleg. 

The  badness  of  the  fish,  indeed,  sufficiently  advertised 
itself. 

At  the  mention  of  something  to  eat  little  Hugh  sharp- 
ened his  croon  of  pain  into  a  yell. 

"Hugh's  awsome  hungry!  Hugh  boy  wants  his 
dinner ! " 

Vara  went  to  him  and  knelt  beside  him. 

"  Hush  thee,  Hugh  boy ! "  she  said,  speaking  with  a 
fragrance  of  motherliness  which  must  have  come  to  her 
from  some  ancestor,  for  certainly  never  in  her  life  had 
she  experienced  anything  like  it.  "  Hush !  Hugh  boy 
shall  have  his  dinner  if  he  is  a  good  boy !  Poor  handle ! 
Poor,  poor  handie  ! " 

And  the  girl  took  the  swollen  wrist  and  torn  hand  into 
hers  and  rocked  to  and  fro  with  the  boy  on  her  knee. 

"  Hugh  is  gaun  to  be  a  man,"  she  said.  "  He  wadna 
greet.  JSTa,  he  will  wait  till  faither  comes  hame.  And 
then  he  will  get  ham,  nice  ham,  singing  in  the  pan ;  aye, 
and  red  herring  brandering  on  the  fire,  and  salmon  in 
tins,  an'  aipples,  an'  oranges,  an'  cancellaries." 

"Losh,  aye,  but  that  wull  be  guid!"  said  Hugh, 
stopping  his  crying  to  listen  to  the  enthralling  catalogue. 


VARA  KAVANNAH  OP  THE  TINKLERS'  LANDS.  77 

"  Aye,"  said  Vara,  "  and  when  f aither  comes  hame, 
he  will  tak'  us  away  to  a  bonny  hoose  to  leeve  where  the 
ships  sail  by.  For  dadda  has  gane  to  the  seaside  to  look 
for  wark.  It  will  be  a  bonny  hoose  wi'  swings  at  every 
door,  and  blacky  men  that  dance  in  braw,  striped  claes, 
and  shows.  And  Hugh  boy  shall  gang  to  them  a'. 
We'll  howk  holes  in  the  sand,  and  fill  the  dirt  into 
buckets,  and  row  our  girds,  Hughie.  And  we  shall 
paidle  in  the  tide,  and  splash  the  bonny  water  aboon  oor 
heids ! " 

"  Oh,  oh,"  cried  the  child,  "  Hugh  boy  wants  to  gang 
noo.  He  wants  to  paidle  in  the  bonny  water  and  eat  the 
oranges ! " 

"Bide  ye,  bonny  man,"  said  Maggie,  fondling  him, 
"  that's  a'  to  be  when  dadda  comes  hame." 

"  Hugh  boy  is  gangin'  to  the  door  to  look  for  dadda ! " 
said  the  boy  as  he  moved  oS.  with  his  bandaged  hand 
clutched  to  his  side. 

The  baby  in  the  bunk  among  the  old  clouts  set  up  a 
crying,  and  Cleg  went  to  it,  for  he  was  touched  to  the 
heart  by  the  voice  of  dumb  things  in  pain,  whether  babes 
or  beasts. 

But  little  Gavin  (called  for  a  comrade  of  Sheemus 
Kavannah's  who  had  been  kind  to  him)  was  wrinkling 
all  his  face  into  a  myriad  crinkles.  Then,  lifting  up  the 
tiniest  shrill  pipe,  he  cried  with  the  cry  of  underfed  and 
ill-used  childhood — a  cry  that  breaks  off  sharp  in  the 
middle  and  never  attains  to  the  lusty  roar  of  the  healthy 
and  well-grown  malcontent. 

Vara  flew  to  Gavin  and,  taking  the  babe  in  her  arms, 
she  hushed  him  back  again  to  sleep,  making  a  swift  ges- 
ture of  command  for  silence.  She  kept  her  eyes  fondly 
upon  the  peaked  little  face,  till  the  wailing  ceased,  the 
tiny  clenched  hand  fell  back  from  the  puckered  face,  and 


78  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

the  infant  dropped  again  to  sleep,  clasping  the  frill  of 
Vara's  pinafore  with  fingers  like  bird  claws. 

"  I  was  feared  he  wad  waken  an'  I  had  nocht  to  gie 
him,"  she  explained,  simply. 

"  God ! "  said  Cleg ;  "  I  canna  stand  this." 

And  without  a  word  he  skimmed  up  the  cellar  steps 
and  out.  He  went  straight  to  his  mistress  of  the  paper- 
shop,  and  with  her  he  had  a  loud-voiced  and  maledictory 
interview,  in  which  he  endeavoured  to  uplift  his  week's 
wage  before  it  was  due.  There  were  threats  and  recrim- 
inations on  both  sides  before  a  compromise  was  effected. 
It  ended  in  the  half,  which  had  already  been  worked  for, 
being  paid  over  in  view  of  instant  necessities — which,  it  is 
to  be  regretted.  Cleg  did  not  quite  truthfully  represent  to 
Mistress  Eoy. 

Then,  with  two  silver  shillings  in  his  hand.  Cleg  went 
and  bought  twopence  worth  of  meat  from  the  neck  and  a 
penny  bone  for  boiling,  a  penny  worth  of  carrots,  a  half- 
penny cabbage,  a  large  four-pound  loaf,  and  twopence 
worth  of  the  best  milk.  To  this  he  added  two  apples 
and  an  orange  for  Hugh,  so  that  he  might  have  a  fore- 
taste of  the  golden  time  when  dadda  should  come 
home. 

It  was  as  good  as  a  circus  procession  when  Cleg  went 
back  laden  like  a  bee,  and  no  humble  bee  either,  to  the 
cellar  in  Tinklers'  Lands.  He  had  his  head  in  the  air, 
and  his  chest  out,  just  as  he  used  to  march  when  he  heard 
the  regiments  coming  down  the  High  Street  from  the 
Castle,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  their  swinging  tartans  and 
towering  plumes. 

Vara  met  him  at  the  door.  She  raised  her  hands  in 
amaze,  but  mechanically  checked  the  cry  of  gladness  and 
admiration  on  her  lips  as  Cleg  came  scrambling  down, 
without  ever  minding  his  feet  on  the  slippery  stairs. 


VARA  KAVANNAH   OF  THE  TINKLERS'  LANDS.  79 

"  Cleg  Kelly ! "  said  she,  speaking  under  her  breath, 
"  what  are  ye  doin'  wi'  a'  that  meat  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  nocht  ava,"  said  Cleg  lightly ;  "  it's  juist  some 
things  that  I  had  nae  use  for  this  week.  Ye  ken  I'm 
watchman  noo  at  Callendar's  as  weel  as  working  at  the 
paper-shop ! " 

"  Save  us ! "  said  Vara,  "  this  is  never  a*  for  us.  I 
canna  tak'  it.     I  canna ! " 

"  Aye,  is  it ! "  said  Cleg,  "  an'  you  tak'  it  for  the  bairns' 
sake.  Sheemus  will  pay  me  when  he  comes  back,  gin  ye 
like ! " 

Yara's  heart  broke  out  in  a  cry,  "  0  Cleg,  I  canna 
thank  ye ! "  And  her  tears  fairly  rained  down  while  she 
sobbed  quickly  and  freely. 

"  Dinna,  Vara,  dinna,  lassie  !  "  said  Cleg,  edging  for  the 
door ;  "  ye  maun  stop  that  or  I  declare  I'll  hae  to  rin ! " 

From  within  came  the  babe's  cry.  But  it  had  no  ter- 
rors for  Vara  now. 

"  Greet,  Gavin,  greet,"  she  cried ;  "  aye,  that  is  richt. 
Let  us  hear  something  like  a  noise,  for  I  hae  gotten  some- 
thing to  gie  ye  at  last." 

So  she  hasted  and  ran  for  the  baby's  bottle — which,  as 
in  all  poor  houses,  was  one  of  Maw's  best.  She  mixed 
rapidly  the  due  proportions  of  milk  and  water,  and  tested 
the  drawing  of  the  tube  with  her  mouth  as  she  ran  to  the 
cot.  At  first  the  babe  could  not  be  brought  to  believe  in 
the  genuineness  of  the  nourishment  offered,  so  often  had 
the  cold  comfort  of  the  empty  tube  been  offered.  It  was 
a  moment  or  two  before  he  tasted  the  milk ;  but,  as  soon 
as  he  did  so,  his  outcry  ceased  as  if  by  magic,  the  puckers 
smoothed  out,  and  the  big  solemn  baby  eyes  fixed  them- 
selves on  the  ceiling  of  the  cellar  with  a  stare  of  grave 
rapture. 

Then  Cleg  took  himself  off,  with  a  hop  and  a  skip 


80  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

up  the  steps,  having  seen  Hugh  settled  to  his  bread  and 
butter,  eating  eagerly  and  jealously,  but  never  for  a  mo- 
ment letting  the  orange,  earnest  of  the  Promised  Land  of 
his  father's  return,  out  of  his  other  hand.  Vara  was 
putting  away  the  great  store  of  provision  in  the  empty 
cupboard  when  Cleg  looked  his  last  down  the  grating 
which  admitted  the  scanty  light  to  the  Kavannahs' 
home. 

There  had  been  few  happier  days  in  Cleg  Kelly's  life 
than  this  on  which  he  spent  the  half  of  his  week's  wage 
for  the  benefit  of  the  Kavannahs. 

So  altogether  happy  did  he  feel  that  he  went  and 
cuiied  the  ears  of  two  well-dressed  boys  for  looking  at 
him.  Then  he  threw  their  new  bonnets  into  the  gutter 
and  departed  in  a  perfect  glow  of  happiness  and  philan- 
thropy. 


ADVENTURE  XIII. 

cleg's  seco^^d  burglary. 

Cleg  slept  soundly  on  his  bed  within  the  whitewashed 
hut.  The  last  thing  he  did  the  night  before  was  to  go  to 
the  bench  where  the  men  had  been  working,  and  bring  an 
armful  of  the  fragrant  pine  shavings  for  a  bouquet  to 
scent  his  chamber.  And  never  did  boy  sleep  better.  It 
must  be  confessed,  however,  that  the  position  of  night- 
watchman  at  Callendar's,  of  which  he  had  boasted  to  Vara 
Kavannah,  was  entirely  a  sinecure.  For  it  was  not  until 
he  heard  the  gruff  voices  of  the  men  clicking  their  tools 
and  answering  one  another  in  pre-breakfast  monosyllables 
that  he  realized  he  had  changed  his  abode.  Then  he 
stirred  so  sharply  that  the  mattress  fell  off  the  trestles, 


CLEG'S  SECOND  BURGLARY.  gl 

and  Cleg  was  brought  up  all  standing  against  the  side  of 
the  hut. 

All  that  day  he  went  about  his  duties  as  usual.  He 
trotted  to  the  newspaper  office  and  distributed  his  roll  of 
papers  mechanically ;  but  his  mind  was  with  the  Kavan- 
nahs,  and  he  longed  for  the  time  to  come  when  he  could, 
ifith  some  self-respect,  go  and  gloat  over  the  effects  of  his 
generosity.  Doubtless  there  was  a  touch  of  self-glorifica- 
tion in  this,  which,  however,  he  kept  strictly  to  himself. 
But  who  will  grudge  it  to  a  boy,  who  for  the  sake  of  a  las- 
sie has  spent  nearly  half  of  his  week's  wage,  and  who 
knows  that  he  will  have  to  live  on  bread  and  water  for 
ten  days  in  consequence  ? 

Cleg  judged  that  it  would  not  be  advisable  for  him  to 
go  to  Tinklers'  Lands  before  noon.  So  in  the  meanwhile  he 
betook  himself  to  Simon  Square  to  "  lag  for  "  Humpy  Joe, 
who  had  called  him  "  Irishman  "  the  previous  evening,  at 
a  time  when,  with  his  papers  under  his  arm.  Cleg  was  in- 
capacitated for  warfare,  being,  like  Martha,  much  cum- 
bered with  serving. 

But  Humpy  Joe  proved  unattainable.  For  he  had 
seen  his  enemy's  approach,  and  as  soon  as  Cleg  set  foot 
within  the  square,  he  saluted  him  with  a  rotten  egg,  care- 
fully selected  and  laid  aside  for  such  an  emergency.  And 
had  it  not  been  for  the  habitual  watchfulness  of  Cleg, 
Joe's  missile  would  have  "  got  him."  But  as  it  was,  a  sud- 
den leap  into  the  air  like  that  of  a  jack-in-the-box  just 
cleared  the  danger,  and  the  egg,  passing  between  Cleg's 
bare  feet,  made  a  long  yolky  mark  of  exclamation  on  the 
ground. 

Being  defeated  in  this.  Humpy  Joe  looked  forth  from 
an  end  window,  and  entertained  the  neighbourhood  with 
a  gratuitous  and  wholly  untrustworthy  account  of  Cleg's 
ancestors.     And  Cleg,  in  reply,  devised  ingenious  tortures, 


82  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

which  he  declared  would  be  the  portion  of  Humpy  Joe, 
when  next  he  caught  him  "  out." 

Thus,  after  tiring  of  this,  the  embattled  belligerents 
separated  in  high  delight  and  with  mutual  respect  and 
good  feeling,  vowing  sanguinary  vengeances  when  next 
they  should  meet  at  Sunday  school. 

At  last  the  time  came  for  Cleg  to  feast  his  happy  eyes 
upon  the  table  which  had  been  spread  by  his  means  for 
his  friends  the  Kavannahs.  But  first  he  lingered  awhile 
about  the  end  of  Davie  Dean's  Street,  ostentatiously  look- 
ing for  a  boy  to  lick,  and  throwing  stones  over  the  wall  at 
the  baker's  fat  watch-dog  to  make  it  bark.  In  reality  he 
was  making  sure  that  none  of  his  companions  were  in 
the  neighbourhood,  lest,  with  some  colour  of  truth,  they 
should  cast  up  at  him  the  capital  offence  of  "speaking 
to  a  lassie." 

At  last  the  coast  was  clear.  The  only  boy  within 
half  a  mile  had  been  chased  under  the  protection  of  the 
great  guns  of  his  own  fortress,  being  the  vicinity  of  his 
mother's  wash-tubs.  Then  Cleg  dived  quickly  down  to 
the  cellar  beneath  Tinklers  Lands. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  experience,  the  door  was  shut. 
Cleg  had  set  his  ear  to  the  keyhole  and  listened.  Then 
he  put  his  eye  there.  But  neither  sense  told  him  any- 
thing. 

"  Vara ! "  he  cried  softly,  and  set  his  ear  against  the 
floor.  Cleg  knew  that  the  place  to  hear  behind  a  door  (if 
there  is  no  danger  of  its  being  hastily  opened)  is  not  at 
the  keyhole,  but  close  to  the  floor.  He  listened,  holding 
his  breath.  At  first  he  could  hear  nothing;  but  in  a 
little,  a  low  sob  at  stated  intervals  detached  itself  from 
the  cursory  noises  made  by  the  other  tenants  of  Tink- 
lers' Lands  and  from  the  steady  growl  of  the  streets 
above. 


CLEG'S  SECOND  BURGLARY.  83 

"  Vara ! "  he  cried  a  little  louder ;  "  Vara  Kavannah, 
are  ye  in  ?    What's  wrang  ?  " 

Still  nothing  came  back  to  him  but  the  mechanical 
sob,  which  wore  his  patience  suddenly  to  the  breaking 
point. 

"  They're  a'  killed,"  said  Cleg,  who  had  once  been  at 
the  opening  of  a  door,  and  had  seen  that  which  was  with- 
in. "  I'll  break  open  the  door."  And  with  that  he  dashed 
himself  against  it.  But  the  strength  of  the  bolt  resisted 
his  utmost  strength. 

"  Cleg,"  said  a  voice  from  within,  very  weak  and  fee- 
ble, "  gang  awa'  like  a  guid  lad.  Dinna  come  here  ony 
mair " 

It  was  Vara's  voice,  speaking  through  pain  and 
tears. 

"Vara,"  said  Cleg,  "what's  wrang?  What  for  wuU 
ye  no  open  the  door  ?  " 

"  I  canna.  Cleg ;  she's  here,  lyin'  on  the  floor  in  the 
corner.  I  canna  turn  the  key,  for  she  has  tied  me  to  the 
bed-foot." 

Cleg  instantly  understood  the  circumstances.  They 
were  none  so  unprecedented  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Tinklers'  Lands.  Sal  Kavannah  had  come  home  drunk, 
singly  or  in  company.  She  had  abused  the  children,  and 
ended  by  tying  up  Vara,  lest  she  should  go  out  while  she 
lay  in  her  drunken  sleep.  Such  things  had  been  done 
within  Cleg's  knowledge — aye,  things  infinitely  worse  than 
these.  And  with  his  unchildish  wisdom  Cleg  feared  the 
worst. 

But  he  was  not  Tim  Kelly's  son  for  nothing.  And  it 
did  not  cost  him  a  moment  to  search  in  his  pocket  for  a 
fine  strong  piece  of  twine,  such  as  all  shoemaker's  use.  He 
always  carried  at  least  ten  sorts  of  cord  about  with  him. 
This  cobbler's  string  was  a  special  brand,  so  wonderful 


84  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

that  Cleg  had  made  friends  with  the  shoemaker's  boy 
(whom  he  loathed)  solely  in  order  to  obtain  it. 

Cleg  knew  that  the  key  was  in  the  lock,  but  that  the 
wards  were  turned  clear,  for  his  eyes,  growing  accustomed 
to  the  gloom,  could  now  look  into  the  cellar.  He  also 
knew  that  nine  door-keys  out  of  ten  have  a  little  groove 
at  the  end  of  the  shank  just  below  the  wards.  So  he 
made  a  noose  of  the  fine,  hard  cobbler's  twine,  and  slipped 
it  into  the  keyhole  just  as  if  he  had  been  "girning" 
sticklebacks  and  "  bairdies  "  in  the  shallow  burns  about 
the  Loch  of  Lochend. 

After  a  failure  or  two  the  loop  caught  and  tightened. 
Then  Cleg  shook  the  string  about  with  a  cunning  see-saw- 
ing motion,  learned  from  his  father,  till  he  felt  the  wards 
of  the  key  drop  down  perpendicularly.  Then  he  took  a 
long  piece  of  stick,  and,  thrusting  it  into  the  keyhole,  he 
had  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  the  key  drop  inside  the 
door,  and  hang  by  the  cobbler's  twine.  He  eased  it  down 
to  the  floor,  and  found  that,  as  is  the  case  with  most 
doors,  the  bottom  of  that  of  the  cellar  of  Tinklers'  Lands 
did  not  come  quite  close  to  the  floor.  It  was,  therefore, 
easy  for  Cleg  to  dangle  the  key  a  little  till  he  could  bring 
the  end  of  it  to  the  place  where  the  arch  was  worn  widest. 
Then  he  took  his  hooked  wire  and  pulled  the  key  towards 
him.  It  was  in  itself  a  pretty  trick,  and  was  executed  by 
Cleg  in  far  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  about  it. 

With  the  key  in  his  hand,  and  in  the  other  an  open 
clasp-knife,  Cleg  turned  the  bolt  back  and  stepped  with- 
in. A  terrible  enough  sight  met  his  eyes,  though  not  that 
which  he  dreaded.  In  the  corner  lay  Sal  Kavannah,  with 
a  pair  of  empty  bottles  tossed  at  her  side,  her  black  hair 
over  her  face,  lying  drawn  together  in  a  heap.  Tied  to 
the  bed  was  Vara,  bleeding  from  a  cut  on  the  head,  and 
trying  to  cover  her  arms  and  hands  from  his  sight.     But 


CLEG'S  SECOND   BURGLARY.  §5 

Hugh  and  the  baby  lay  in  the  bunk  together,  sleeping 
peacefully.  It  was  upon  poor  Vara  that  the  brunt  of  the 
woman's  maniac  fury  had  fallen. 

Cleg  stood  stricken ;  but  the  sight  of  Vara  bound  with 
cords  aroused  him.  He  had  the  knife  in  his  hand,  and  it 
did  not  take  a  moment  to  free  her.  But  she  was  so  stiff 
and  exhausted  that  she  fell  forward  on  her  face  as  soon  as 
the  straps  were  removed.  Then,  after  Cleg  had  lifted 
her,  he  turned  upon  the  sodden  heap  in  the  corner,  and, 
with  his  knife  glittering  in  his  hand  and  the  wild-cat  grin 
on  his  face,  he  said,  with  a  deep  indrawing  of  his  breath, 
"  Oh,  if  ye  had  only  been  my  ain  faither ! " 

And  it  was  as  well  that  it  was  Sal  Kavannah  and  not 
Tim  Kelly  that  had  done  this  thing. 

Now,  in  an  emergency  Cleg  always  acted  first  and 
asked  leave  afterwards. 

"  Come  awa'  oot  o'  this.  Vara,  and  I'll  bring  the  bairn 
and  Hugh,"  said  he  to  the  girl,  when  she  was  somewhat 
recovered. 

"  But,  Cleg,  where  are  we  to  gang  ?  "  said  Vara,  start- 
ing back. 

"  ]S"ever  you  heed.  Vara ;  there  maun  be  nae  mair  o' 
this  frae  this  time  oot." 

His  manner  was  so  positive  that  the  girl  gave  way. 
Anything  rather  than  abide  with  the  thing  which  lay  in 
the  corner. 

"  Hae  ye  ocht  that  ye  wad  like  to  bring  wi'  ye  ?  "  Cleg 
asked  of  Vara,  as  he  shouldered  Hugh,  and  took  up  the 
baby  on  his  other  arm. 

"Aye,"  said  Vara,  "wee  Gavin's  feedin'  bottle." 

And  she  had  to  step  over  the  sodden  face  of  her  mother 
to  get  it. 

So  the  four  went  out  into  the  noonday  streets,  and 
Cleg  marched  forth  like  the  pipe-major  of  the  Black 


86  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

Watch — than  whom  no  king  on  earth  walks  with  more 
dignity  and  pomp,  when  there  is  a  big  parade  and  the  full 
band  of  pipers  leads  the  regiment. 

Cleg  almost  wished  that  Humpy  Joe  might  see  him 
and  taunt  him,  so  that  on  Sunday  he  might  beat  him  to 
a  jelly.  But,  as  it  chanced,  the  streets  were  deserted,  for 
it  was  the  very  middle  of  the  workmen's  dinner-hour.  So 
that  the  streams  that  went  and  came  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
sooner  and  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  were  for  the  mo- 
ment all  safely  housed;  while  those  who  had  brought 
their  dinners  with  them  sat  on  benches  in  the  shade,  and 
took  no  notice  of  the  small  forlorn  company  passing  along 
the  causeway. 

There  was  another  way  to  the  old  construction  hut  at 
the  back  of  Callendar's  yard  which  did  not  lead  through 
the  main  gateway,  but  entered  from  some  waste  ground, 
where  only  broken  bottles  and  old  tin  cans  dwelt. 

The  children  passed  safely  and  unobserved  by  this 
way,  and  in  a  little  while  Cleg  had  them  safely  housed  in 
his  own  city  of  refuge.  But  Vara  was  in  great  fear  lest 
some  of  the  men  should  see  them  and  turn  them  out  upon 
the  street.  So  Cleg  shut  the  door  upon  them  with  the 
lock  of  his  own  devising,  and  started  at  a  run  to  find  Mr. 
Callendar. 


^,         ADVENTUKE  XIV. 

CLEG  TURNS   DIPLOMATIST. 

James  Callen^dar,  honest  man  and  pillar  of  the 
Seceder  Kirk,  was  sitting  down  to  his  dinner  when  Cleg 
came  to  his  door.  The  one  servant  lass  whom  the  Cal- 
lendars  kept  was  "  tidying  "  herself  for  the  afternoon,  and 


CLEG  TURNS  DIPLOMATIST.  87 

very  much  resented  having  to  answer  the  door  for  a  ragged 
boy  with  bare  legs. 

"  Gae  'way,  we  hae  nocht  for  the  likes  o'  you  here ! " 
said  she,  and  would  have  shut  the  door  upon  him. 

"  No  even  ceevil  mainners,"  said  Cleg,  stepping  lightly 
past  her  into  the  little  side  room,  where  he  knew  that  Mr. 
Callendar  ordinarily  took  his  meals.  The  builder  was 
just  putting  a  potato  into  his  mouth.  He  was  so  sur- 
prised to  see  Cleg  enter  unannounced,  that  the  fork  with 
the  round,  well-buttered,  new  potato  remained  poised  in 
mid-air. 

Cleg  plunged  into  his  affairs  without  preamble,  lest 
he  should  be  captured  from  behind  and  ignominiously 
expelled.  But  the  trim  servant  merely  listened  for  a  mo- 
ment at  the  back  of  the  door,  to  make  sure  that  the  in- 
truder had  some  genuine  business  with  her  master,  and 
then  returned  to  the  graver  duties  of  her  own  toilet.  It 
was  her  evening  out,  and  her  "  young  man  "  had  hinted 
at  a  sail  to  Aberdour  on  the  pleasure-boat,  if  they  could 
get  to  the  West  Pier  in  time. 

"  Oh,  Maister  Callendar,"  Cleg  began,  eager  and  breath- 
less, "  ye  hae  been  a  kind  man  to  me,  and  I  want  ye  to 
help  me  noo " 

"What's  this,  Cleg?"  said  the  builder;  "surely  the 
police  are  not  after  you  ?  "  • 

Cleg  shook  his  head. 

"  Nor  your  f aither  gotten  off  ?  " 

Again  and  more  vigorously  Cleg  shook  his  head,  smil- 
ing a  little  as  he  did  so. 

"  Oh,  then,"  said  the  builder,  much  relieved,  carrying 
the  suspended  potato  to  his  mouth,  "  it  can  be  naething 
very  dreadfu'.  But  when  ye  came  in  like  that  on  me,  I 
declare  that  I  thocht  the  wood-yaird  was  on  fire !  " 

Then  Cleg  proceeded  with  his  tale.     He  told  how  the 


88  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

Kavannahs  had  been  deserted  by  their  father,  who  had 
gone  to  look  for  work  in  Liverpool.  He  sketched  with 
the  inevitable  realism  of  the  street-boy  the  career  of  Sal 
Kavannah.  He  stated  in  plain  language  the  fate  that 
threatened  Vara.  He  described  Sal's  treatment  of 
Hugh. 

"  And  she  battered  her  ain  bairn  till  the  blood  ran  on 
the  floor.  She  tossed  the  bairn  against  the  wall  till  its 
arm  was  near  broke.  She  never  hears  her  wee  bit  wean 
greetin'  for  the  milk  without  cursing  it.  Will  ye  turn 
them  away  to  gang  back  to  a'  that  ?  " 

This  was  Cleg's  climax,  and  very  artfully  he  had 
worked  up  to  it.  The  builder,  good  man,  was  troubled. 
The  tale  spoiled  the  relish  of  his  new  potatoes,  and  it  was 
the  first  time  he  had  had  them  that  year.  He  turned 
with  some  little  asperity  upon  Cleg. 

"  But  I  dinna  see  what  I  can  do,"  he  said  ;  "  I  canna 
tak'  them  here  into  my  house.  The  mistress  wadna 
alloo  it." 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  referred  to  the  ruler  of 
his  fortunes,  who  at  that  moment  was  declaring  to  an 
acquaintance  that  she  paid  two  shillings  a  week  less  for 
her  rooms  than  her  friend  in  the  next  pew  at  church. 
"And  how  she  can  afford  it  is  mair  than  I  can  tell."  It 
was  no  wonder  that  honest  Mr.  Callendar  said  that  his 
wife  would  not  allow  him  to  bring  the  Kavannahs  within 
his  door. 

"  But,"  said  Cleg,  "  if  you  will  let  them  bide  in  the 
auld  hut  at  the  back  o'  the  yaird,  where  naebody  gangs,  I 
can  easy  get  ither  lodgings.  They'll  meddle  wi'  naething, 
and  I  ken  whaur  to  get  wark  for  the  lassie,  when  she's 
fit  for  it." 

Mr.  Callendar  considered.  It  was  a  good  deal  to  ask, 
and  he  had  no  guarantee  for  the  honesty  of  his  new  ten- 


CLEG  TURNS  DIPLOMATIST.  39 

ants  but  the  good  word  of  the  son  of  a  thief  who  had 
squatted  on  his  property. 

"  Weel,  Cleg,"  he  said  at  last,  with  his  quiet  humor- 
some  smile  coming  back  to  his  lips,  "  they  can  bide,  gin 
ye  are  willing  to  come  surety  for  them." 

Cleg  jumped  up  with  a  shout  and  a  wave  of  his  bonnet, 
which  brought  the  trim  servant  to  the  back  of  the  door  in 
consternation. 

"  I  kenned  ye  wadna  turn  them  awa' — I  kenned  it, 
man ! "  he  cried. 

Then  Cleg  realised  where  he  was,  and  his  enthusiasm 
subsided  as  suddenly  as  it  rose. 

"  I  shouldna  behave  like  this  on  a  carpet,"  he  said, 
looking  apologetically  at  the  dusty  pads  his  bare  feet  had 
left  on  the  good  Kidderminster. 

He  was  on  the  eve  of  departing  when  the  builder 
called  him  back.  He  had  been  turning  things  over  in  his 
mind. 

"  I  hae  anither  wood-yard  doon  by  Echo  Bank,"  he 
said.  "  There's  a  cubby-hole  there  you  could  bide  in,  gin 
ye  had  a  blanket." 

"That's  nocht,"  answered  Cleg,  "in  this  weather. 
And  thank  ye  kindly.  I  can  do  brawly  withoot  a 
blanket." 

And  he  sped  out  as  he  came,  without  troubling  the 
maid,  who  was  wearying  for  her  master  to  be  done  with 
his  dinner  and  take  himself  away  to  his  office. 

The  good  news  was  conveyed  directly  to  Vara,  and 
then  she  set  Cleg's  hut  in  order  with  a  quieter  heart. 
Cleg  showed  them  where  to  get  water,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  the  bairns  were  established  in  a  safety  and  comfort 
they  had  been  strangers  to  all  their  lives. 

But  Cleg  was  not  done  with  his  day's  work  for  the 
Kavannahs.  He  went  down  to  the  Hillside  Works  and 
7 


90  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

saw  the  watchman,  after  he  had  delivered  his  tale  of 
evening  papers. 

"D'ye  think,"  he  said  diplomatically,  "that  there's 
ony  chance  for  a  lassie  to  get  wark  here  ?  " 

The  watchman  shook  his  head. 

"  There's  nae  room  for  ony  hut  the  relations  o'  them 
that's  workin'  here  already." 

The  watchman  could  be  as  diplomatic  as  Cleg.  He 
had  daughters  of  his  own  growing  up,  and,  though  he  was 
willing  to  be  a  friend  to  Cleg,  it  was  against  his  principles 
to  encourage  the  introduction  into  "  our  works  "  of  alien 
blood.  There  was  a  tradition  at  Hillside  that  every  old 
servant  got  his  daughters  "in"  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Indeed,  matrimonial  alliances  were  often  arranged  on  that 
basis,  and  the  blessing  of  children  was  looked  upon  as 
equivalent  to  the  supreme  blessing  of  money  in  the  bank. 

"  But  I  dare  say  ye  micht  see  Maister  Donald,"  said 
the  watchman,  relenting.  He  remembered  that  he  had 
no  daughters  that  could  be  ready  for  a  few  years  yet ;  and 
besides.  Cleg  was  a  good  friend  of  his.  "  But  what  ken  ye 
aboot  lassies  ?  My  sang,  but  ye  are  early  begun,  my  lad. 
Ye'll  rue  it  some  day." 

Cleg  smiled,  but  disdained  an  answer.  He  was  not 
argie-bargiein'  at  present,  as  he  would  have  said.  He  was 
waiting  to  get  a  job  for  Vara  Kavannah.  In  another 
minute  he  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Donald 
Iverach,  junior  partner  in  the  firm  of  Iverach  &  Com- 
pany, whose  position  in  the  paper  trade  and  special  emi- 
nence in  the  production  of  the  higher  grades  of  foreign 
correspondence  were  acknowledged  even  by  rivals — as  the 
senior  partner  wrote  when  he  was  preparing  the  advertise- 
ment for  the  firm's  yearly  almanack. 

Mr.  Donald  Iverach  was  not  in  the  best  of  humours. 
He  had  hoped  to  be  playing  "  pocket-handkerchief  ten- 


CLEG  TURNS  DIPLOMATIST.  Ql 

nis,"  of  which  he  had  grown  inordinately  fond,  upon  the 
lawn  of  Aurelia  Villa.  But  it  so  happened  that  he  had 
been  required  to  supply  his  father  upon  the  morrow  with 
important  data  concerning  the  half-yearly  balance.  For 
this  reason  he  had  to  remain  in  the  dreary  office  in  the 
South  Back.  This  jumped  ill  with  the  desires  of  the 
junior  partner,  who  was  at  present  so  very  junior  a  part- 
ner that  his  share  of  the  profits  was  only  a  full  and  undi- 
vided fiftieth — "  amply  sufficient,  however,"  as  his  father 
said  many  times  over,  "  and  much  more  than  ever  I  had 
at  your  age,  with  a  wife  and  family  to  keep." 

"  I  wish  I  had ! "  said  the  reckless  Donald,  when  he 
had  heard  this  for  the  twentieth  time,  not  knowing  what 
he  said. 

"  Donald,  you  are  a  young  fool ! "  said  his  father. 
Which,  of  course,  materially  helped  things. 

Now  the  temper  of  Mr.  Donald  Iverach  was  specially 
tried  on  this  occasion,  for  he  had  good  reason  to  believe 
that  a  picturesque  cousin  of  Cecilia's  from  London,  who 
had  been  invalided  home  from  some  ridiculous  little  war 
or  other,  was  playing  pocket-handkerchief  tennis  at  Au- 
relia Villa  that  evening  in  place  of  himself. 

So  his  greeting  to  Cleg  was  curt  indeed,  as  he  looked 
up  with  his  pen  in  his  fingers  from  the  last  estimate 
of  "goods  returned  damaged"— an  item  which  always 
specially  annoyed  his  father. 

"What  do  you  want,  boy?"  he  said,  with  a  glance  at 
the  tattered  trousers  with  one  "gallus"  showing  across 
the  blue  shirt,  which  represented  Cleg's  entire  summer 
wear. 

"  Hae  ye  ony  licht  job  ye  could  gie  a  clever  and  wullin' 
lassie  the  morn  ? "  said  Cleg,  who  knew  that  the  way  to 
get  a  thing  is  to  ask  for  it. 

"  What  lassie  ?  "  said  the  junior  partner  indifferently. 


92  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

"  A  lassie  that  has  nae  faither  or  mither,"  said  Cleg — 
"  worth  speakin'  aboot,"  he  added  as  an  afterthought. 

"We  are  full  up,"  said  Donald  Iverach,  balancing 
himself  upon  one  leg  of  his  stool.  For  his  father  was  old- 
fashioned,  and  despised  the  luxury  of  stuffed  chairs  as  not 
in  keeping  with  a  sound,  old-fashioned  conservative  busi- 
ness. 

Cleg  looked  disappointed. 

"  It  wad  be  an  awsome  graund  thing  for  the  lassie  if 
she  could  get  a  job  here,"  said  Cleg  sadly. 

"Another  time,"  replied  the  junior  partner,  turning 
to  his  desk.  To  him  the  case  and  application  were  as 
fifty  more.  He  only  wished  the  manager  had  been  at 
hand  to  refer  the  case  to.  Donald  was  like  most  of  his 
kindly  fellow-creatures.  He  liked  to  have  his  nasty  jobs 
done  by  deputy.  Which  is  one  reason  why  the  law  is  a 
lucrative  profession. 

Cleg  was  at  the  door,  his  head  sunk  so  low  that  it 
was  nearly  between  his  feet.  But  at  the  very  out-going, 
with  the  great  brass  handle  in  his  fingers,  he  tried  once 
more. 

"  Aweel,"  he  said,  without  taking  his  eyes  off  the  brown 
matting  on  the  floor,  "  I'll  e'en  hae  to  gang  and  tell  Miss 
Tennant  aboot  it.     She  wull  be  desperate  vexed  !  " 

The  junior  partner  swung  round  on  his  stool  and  called, 
«  Hey !  boy,  stop  ! " 

But  Cleg  was  already  outside. 

"  Call  that  boy  back  !  "  he  shouted  to  the  watchman, 
leaping  to  the  door  with  sudden  agility  and  astonishing 
interest. 

Cleg  returned  with  the  same  dejected  mien  and  abased 
eyes.  He  stood,  the  image  of  sorrow  and  disappointment, 
upon  the  cocoa-nut  matting. 

"  Whom  did  you  say  you  would  tell  ? "  said  Donald 


CLEG  TURNS  DIPLOMATIST.  93 

Iverach,  in  a  tone  in  his  voice  quite  different  from  his 
business  one. 

"Only  Miss  Tennant — a  freend  o'  mine,"  said  Cleg, 
with  incomparable  meekness  and  deference. 

"  Miss  Tennant  of  Aurelia  Villa  ?  "  broke  in  the  eager 
youth. 

"  Aye,  juist  her,"  said  Cleg  dispassionately.  "  She 
learns  us  aboot  Jacob  and  Esau — and  aboot  ISToah,"  he 
added  as  if  upon  consideration.  He  would  have  men- 
tioned more  of  the  patriarchs  if  he  could  have  remembered 
them  at  the  time.  His  choice  of  names  did  not  spring 
from  either  preference  or  favouritism.  So  he  added  J^oah 
to  show  that  there  was  no  ill-feeling  in  the  matter. 

"And  Miss  Tennant  is  your  friend?"  queried  the 
young  man. 

Cleg  nodded.  He  might  have  added  that  sometimes, 
as  in  one  great  ploy  yet  to  be  described,  he  had  been  both 
teacher  and  friend  to  Miss  Celie  Tennant. 

"  Tell  your  lassie  to  be  here  at  breakfast-time  to-mor- 
row morning,  and  to  be  sure  and  ask  for  Mr.  Donald 
Iverach,"  was  all  the  junior  partner  remarked. 

And  Cleg  said  demurely, "  Thank  you,  sir." 

But  as  Cleg  went  out  he  thought  a  great  deal  of  addi- 
tional matter,  and  when  he  said  his  adieus  to  the  watch- 
man he  could  hardly  contain  himself.  Before  he  was 
fairly  down  the  steps,  he  yelled  three  times  as  loud  as  he 
could,  and  turned  Catherine-wheel  after  Catherine-wheel, 
till  at  the  last  turn  he  came  down  with  his  bare  feet  in 
the  waist-belt  of  a  policeman.  The  good-natured  officer 
solemnly  smacked  the  convenient  end  of  Cleg  with  a  vast 
plantigrade  palm,  and  restored  him  to  the  stature  and 
progression  of  ordinary  humanity,  with  a  reminder  to  be- 
have— and  to  mind  where  he  was  coming  if  he  did  not 
want  to  s^et  run  in. 


94  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

But  even  this  did  not  settle  Cleg. 

"  0  Keelies  !  "  he  cried,  as  if  he  had  been  addressing  a 
large  company  of  his  fellows,  "wasna  it  rare  to  see  him 
loup  off  that  stool,  like  a  yellow  paddock  into  the  canal ! " 

And  Cleg,  who  scorned  the  eccentricities  of  love  in 
more  mature  bosoms  even  when  he  traded  upon  the  re- 
sultant weaknesses,  went  off  into  an  ecstasy  of  mocking 
laughter. 


ADVENTURE   XV. 

THE   FIKE   liT   CALLEJiTDAR'S    YAED. 

Vara  Kava]S']^ah  went  daily  to  the  factory  at  Hill- 
side. She  was  but  a  slip  of  a  thing,  yet  she  soon  learned 
the  work  that  fell  to  her  share,  and  developed  marvellous 
quickness  in  passing  the  thin  quires  of  foreign  paper,  ex- 
amining them  for  flaws  and  dirt,  and  rejecting  the  faulty 
sheets. 

The  girls  were  mostly  kind  to  her,  though  they  teased 
her  about  her  name.  And,  indeed,  in  a  world  of  Maggies 
and  Jeanies,  her  Christian  name  appeared  somewhat 
strange.  But  Vara  had  a  reverence  for  it,  because  it  had 
been  her  single  legacy  from  her  father,  the  gentle  and  im- 
aginative Sheemus,  who  had  found  married  life  so  differ- 
ent from  his  hopes  that  he  had  been  brought  at  last  to  try 
that  bitter  pass  of  flight,  through  which  so  many  have 
gone  to  find  a  new  life  on  the  other  side. 

These  were  pleasant  evenings  in  the  wooden  hut. 
Cleg  generally  dropped  in  to  see  his  sub-tenants  after  his 
papers  were  delivered.  Then  he  would  potter  about, 
watering  the  flowers,  which  now  began  to  bloom  bravely 
in  spite  of  the  city  heat  and  the  dust  of  the  yard.     Vara 


THE  FIRE  IN  CALLENDAR'S  YARD.  95 

had  a  seam  or  a  stocking,  and  sat  at  the  outside  of  the 
door  on  a  creepie  stool. 

Hugh  learned  to  nurse  Gavin  on  his  knee  or  to  rock 
him  in  the  old  cradle  which  the  kindly  foreman  of  the 
yard,  a  widower,  had  lent  to  Vara,  saying,  "  I'm  no  needin' 
it  the  noo — no  for  a  year  or  twa  at  ony  rate." 

He  was  a  "  seeking  "  widower,  and  did  not  make  the 
presentation  absolute  because  he  was  a  far-sighted  man, 
and  one  never  knew  what  might  happen.  As  for  Vara, 
she  seemed  to  shoot  up  in  stature  every  day,  and  the 
curves  of  her  wasted  and  abused  body  filled  out.  Her 
face  again  grew  merry  and  bright,  and  she  was  ready  to 
take  her  share  in  mirthful  talk.  But  sometimes  her  eyes 
were  sad  and  far  away.  Then  she  was  thinking  of  her 
father,  the  gentle  Sheemus ;  and  she  longed  greatly  to  go 
to  meet  him  in  Liverpool,  when  the  ill  days  should  have 
overpassed  and  there  was  no  mother  any  more  in  her  life. 

In  the  Works  Vara  gained  the  friendship  of  her  com- 
panions, though  she  was  younger  than  most  of  them.  A 
tall  girl,  who  was  much  looked  up  to  in  tlie  mill  because 
she  sang  in  a  choir,  stood  firmly  her  friend.  And  the 
two,  Agnes  Ramsay  and  little  Vara,  used  to  walk  home 
together.  Vara  was  anxious  that  Cleg  should  apply  for  a 
situation  for  himself  at  the  Works  ;  but  Cleg  preferred 
his  untrammelled  freedom,  and  continued  to  deliver  his 
papers  and  sleep  in  the  yard  at  Echo  Bank  all  through 
the  summer. 

It  was  mid- August  and  the  sky  shone  like  copper. 
There  was  a  peculiar  dunness  in  the  air,  and  light  puifs 
of  burning  wind  came  in,  hot  and  unrefreshing,  from  the 
walls  and  pavement  in  the  afternoon.  But  when  the 
girls  came  home  "  on  the  back  of  six,"  as  they  said,  the 
air  had  grown  cooler,  and  Agnes  and  Vara  often  lingered 
a  little  in  the  great  "  saal,"  or  work-room,  in  order  to  let 


96  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

the  press  of  girls  well  down  the  street  before  them,  and 
so  be  rid  of  the  rough  chaff  of  the  lads  as  they  passed 
home. 

But  this  evening,  as  they  came  leisurely  out,  arm 
linked  in  arm,  Vara  saw  a  great  crowd  blocking  up  the 
way  in  front  of  the  clock  which  gave  the  time  to  the 
Works,  and  with  a  quick  clutch  at  her  companion's  arm 
she  would  have  drawn  her  away. 

But  Agnes  Kamsay  saw  a  woman  furiously  attacking 
the  manager,  and  pushed  forward  to  get  a  better  view. 
Vara  knew  too  well  what  it  meant.  Her  enemy  had 
found  her.  She  tried  to  steal  away,  but  it  seemed  im- 
possible to  move.  With  a  cry  of  anger  Sal  Kavannah 
recognised  her  daughter,  and  threshed  a  way  through  the 
crowd  to  reach  her.  Vara  stood  still,  white  to  the  lips. 
Her  mother  seized  her  by  the  neck  of  her  dress  and  began 
to  shake  her,  striking  her  about  the  face  and  shoulders 
with  foul  names  and  blasphemous  words. 

"  Brazen  besom,"  she  cried  ;  "  you  and  your  '  Keelie  ' 
stole  my  bairns  f rae  me.  Where  have  you  hidden  them  ? 
Ye  think  I  canna  find  oot.  But  I  can  track  them  as  I 
tracked  you.  Aff  wi'  that  dress,  you  slut.  It's  ower 
guid  for  the  like  o'  you,  and  me  trapesin'  in  a  gown 
like  this.  Take  it  off,  I  say,  and  give  me  back  my 
children." 

Vara  stood  mute  and  silent  under  the  storm  of  oaths. 
The  manager  would  have  sent  for  the  police,  but  knowing 
that  Vara  was  2^  protegee  of  Mr.  Donald's,  he  went  within, 
leaving  them  (as  he  said)  to  fight  it  out. 

Then  Agnes  Eamsay  pulled  the  shrinking  girl  away 
from  her  mother,  and  so  turned  the  abuse  upon  herself. 
But  Agnes  was  a  well -grown  girl,  and,  being  supported 
by  half-a-hundred  of  her  companions,  she  stood  her 
ground  valiantly. 


THE  FIEE  IN  CALLENDAR'S  YARD.  97 

"Eun,"  she  said,  "run,  lassie,  while  ye  can.  She 
doesna  ken  yet  where  ye  bide." 

So  like  a  hunted  hare  Vara  turned  and  ran.  But 
when  she  reached  the  little  wooden  house,  so  trim  and 
quiet,  with  its  fragrant  wood-yard  about  it,  and  the 
daisies  and  pansies  in  the  little  plots  and  diamond-shaped 
patches  which  Cleg  had  made,  the  bitterness  of  her  heart 
broke  up  within  her,  like  the  breaking  up  of  the  fountains 
of  the  great  deep. 

Little  Hugh  came  trotting  to  her,  waving  a  red  flag, 
the  latest  gift  of  the  widower  foreman,  in  his  hand.  "  Vara, 
Vara,"  he  cried,  "  Gavin  can  say  '  Dadda,'  and  I  nursed 
him  good  as  gold  all  day." 

The  tears  were  running  down  Vara's  face.  She  went 
in  without  power  of  speech  and  sat  by  the  babe's  cot.  He 
was  asleep,  and  she  laid  her  wet  cheek  on  the  pillow  be- 
side his  and  sobbed.  Hugh  kept  a  little  way  off,  not 
knowing  what  to  make  of  the  unknown  sorrow.  Then 
he  came  softly  up  to  her,  and  gave  her  sleeve  a  lit- 
tle pull. 

"  Vara,"  he  said,  "  here's  a  seetie." 

For  Hugh  understood  no  sorrow  which  a  sweetie  would 
not  make  better. 

"I  can  never  go  back  to  the  Works,"  sobbed  Vara. 
"  I  am  disgraced  before  them  all.  I  can  never  face  them 
— never ! " 

About  seven  Cleg  came  over  the  waste  ground  joyful- 
ly, having  disposed  of  his  papers.  He  sat  silent  while 
Vara  told  him  of  the  terrible  evening  at  the  gate  of  Hill- 
side, and  of  all  her  shame  and  terror.  Cleg  whistled  very 
softly  to  himself,  as  he  always  did  when  he  was  thinking 
deeply. 

"  Wait  here  this  ae  nicht,"  he  said.  "  I  am  watching 
with  anither  man  at  the  corner  o'  the  Grange  where  they 


98  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

hae  the  road  up.  I'll  think  it  oot  in  the  shelter.  Keep 
up  your  heart,  Vara — we'll  win  through  yet." 

But  Vara  would  not  be  comforted.  She  would  not 
even  raise  her  head  to  bid  him  say  "  Guid  nicht." 

So,  still  more  softly  whistling,  Cleg  departed. 

He  was  not  great  company  that  night  for  the  man  in 
the  shelter,  one  "  Tyke  "  Tweedie — a  man  who  had  once 
been  a  soldier  for  three  months,  before  being  bought  off 
by  his  father,  who  had  regretted  the  transaction  ever  since. 
"  Tyke  "  was  a  man  of  battles.  By  his  own  account  he 
had  been  in  the  Crimea.  He  was  great  upon  "  the  Hichts 
o'  Almy."  He  described  the  joint  career  of  himself  and 
the  victorious  Sir  Colin  Campbell,  concluding  his  epic 
with, "  Then  we  charged  the  enemy  and  carriet  a'  afore  us, 
till  we  garred  the  Eussian  chiels  rin  like  stour !  " 

But  Tyke  had  a  poor  listener  that  night,  though  he 
never  knew  it.  For  Cleg  sat  silent,  and  only  by  a  nod  did 
he  acknowledge  his  interest  when  Tyke  had  come  to  the 
crisis  of  one  of  his  famous  narrations. 

The  policeman  on  the  beat  would  sometimes  stop  and 
look  over  the  windward  edge  of  the  shelter.  "Hae  ye 
gotten  to  the  battle  o'  the  Inkermann  yet  ?  "  he  would  ask. 

"  N"a,  Kob,"  Tyke  would  reply,  "  we  are  aye  on  the 
Hichts  o'  Almy  yet !  Dear,  sirce,  but  it  was  a  sare,  sare 
job.  Ye  see,  there  was  me  and  Sir  Colin,  and  wi'  that  we 
at  them  sword  in  hand " 

And  the  policeman  would  stroll  away  from  the  glow  of 
the  fire,  out  under  the  stars — alone  save  for  the  transient 
rake-hell  cat  skirmishing  across  from  area-railing  to  area- 
railing,  and  the  tramp  of  a  brother  officer  coming  up  som- 
bre and  subdued  from  far  down  the  hill. 

But  about  one  of  the  clock,  when  the  night  was  verg- 
ing to  its  stillest.  Cleg  looked  up  and  saw  the  stars  over- 
head thinning  out. 


THE  FIRE  IN  CALLENDAR'S  YARD.  99 

"It's  never  morning  already!"  he  said,  rubbing  his 
eyes,  for  he  had  not  half  solved  the  hard  problem  of  Vara 
Kavannah. 

He  stepped  out  of  the  shelter.  All  the  heaven  to  the 
north  was  a-flicker  with  the  skarrow  of  fire. 

Without  a  word  to  the  now  drowsy  Tyke,  nodding 
over  the  blackening  cinders  in  his  grated  brazier.  Cleg 
Kelly  set  off  at  his  top  speed  towards  the  fire,  to  be  in  at 
the  death.  "  It's  surely  in  the  Pleasance,"  he  said  to  him- 
self as  he  ran.  The  flame  towered  mightily  clear  and 
clean,  without  sparks  or  crackling  as  when  houses  burn. 

"  It's  Callendar's  yaird  ! "  said  Cleg  again,  and  never 
in  his  life  had  he  run  so  fast.  For  there  in  the  midst  of 
the  timber  was  the  little  wooden  house  in  which  were 
lying  asleep  little  Vara  Kavannah  and  her  baby  brothers. 

It  was  indeed  Callendar's  wood-yard.  When  Cleg  ar- 
rived there  were  whole  regiments  of  firemen  playing  upon 
the  flames ;  but  his  experienced  eyes  saw  at  once  that  the 
case  was  hopeless.  Indeed,  the  oflScer  in  charge  had  come 
to  the  same  conclusion  some  time  before,  and  he  was  now 
directing  the  solid  streams  of  water  towards  such  sur- 
rounding properties  as  seemed  in  danger  of  catching  fire. 

The  crowds  were  kept  back  by  police,  and  all  was  or- 
derly. The  owner  of  all  stood  patiently  at  the  gate,  talk- 
ing matters  over  with  his  foreman.  After  all,  it  was  the 
visitation  of  God,  and,  further,  he  was  fully  insured.  It 
is  a  great  thing  to  be  prepared  for  affliction. 

Into  the  black  mass  of  the  onlookers  Cleg  darted.  He 
wormed  his  way  round  to  the  back.  He  crossed  a  wall  on 
which  three  or  four  boys  were  roosting. 

"  Ye'll  get  nabbed  if  ye  gang  that  road,"  cried  one  of 
them,  giving  Cleg  "the  office"  in  the  friendliest  way, 
though  he  belonged  to  quite  another  gang. 

But  Cleg  sped  on.     He  dived  between  the  long  legs  of 


100  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

his  former  friend,  the  red-headed  officer  known  as  "  Long- 
shanks."  He  skimmed  across  the  yard  among  the  falling 
sparks,  dodging  the  flames  which  shot  out  of  the  burning 
piles  to  intercept  him,  as  if  they  had  been  policemen. 

The  little  wooden  house  lay  before  him  in  the  red 
heart  of  the  fire.  He  saw  the  daisies  growing  in  his  own 
garden  plots.  He  remembered  that,  in  the  hurry  and  dis- 
tress of  listening  to  Vara's  story,  he  had  not  watered  them 
that  day. 

But  he  dashed  for  the  door,  opened  it  eagerly,  and  fell 
forward  across  the  floor.  The  hut  was  filled  with  the 
odour  of  burning.  Shooting  flames  met  him  in  the  face 
as  he  rose ;  but  nevertheless  he  groped  all  about  the  tiny 
room,  getting  his  hands  and  arms  burned  as  he  did  so. 
The  children  were  not  there — Vara,  Hugh,  and  the  baby 
— all  were  gone!  He  turned  to  the  door.  The  thing 
that  he  had  stumbled  over  was  a  body.  He  turned  over 
the  lump  with  his  bare  foot.  It  was  soft,  heavy,  and 
smelled  of  whisky.  Cleg  had  found  Sal  Kavannah  in  the 
home  he  had  made  to  protect  her  children  from  her  search. 
He  had  little  doubt  that  it  was  she  who  had  set  the  yard 
on  fire  and  stumbled  in  here  afterwards. 

Cleg  stood  a  moment  wondering  whether  he  would 
not  do  better  to  leave  her  where  she  was ;  and  more  than 
once  since  that  night  has  the  same  thought  crossed  his 
mind.  He  still  fears  that  in  dragging  her  away  by  the 
feet  from  the  burning  hut  he  unduly  interfered  with  the 
working  of  the  designs  of  an  all- wise  Providence. 


IN  THE  KEY  OF  BOY  NiiTURAL;  ;     ,   ,  ,  ^^Ql 
ADVENTUKE  XVI. 

Iiq"   THE   KEY   OF   BOY   NATUKAL. 

In  time  and  under  a  new  superintendent  Cleg  Kelly 
went  back  to  Hunker  Court  Sunday  school,  some  time 
after  the  loss  of  his  friends  the  Kavannahs.  This  is 
equivalent  to  saying  that  Hunker  Court  became  again  an 
exceedingly  lively  place  of  instruction  and  amusement  on 
a  Sabbath  afternoon.  It  is  true  that  Cleg  was  not  always 
present,  and  when  he  was  absent  his  teacher's  heart  sent 
up  a  silent  thanksgiving.  That,  of  course,  was  before 
Miss  Cecilia  Tennant  took  him  in  hand. 

Cleg  had  several  teachers  before  he  found  his  fate. 
He  was,  in  fact,  the  crux  of  the  school,  and  every  aspiring 
young  neophyte  who  "  took  a  class  "  was  provided  with  a 
nut  to  crack  in  the  shape  of  Cleg.  But  he  never  cracked 
him. 

The  superintendent  of  Hunker  Court  at  the  date  of 
this  first  pilgrimage  was  a  somewhat  ineffective  gentle- 
man, whose  distinguishing  trait  was  that  he  appeared  to 
be  of  a  pale  sandy  complexion  all  over.  That  is,  all  of 
him  not  covered  by  a  tightly-buttoned  black  surtout. 
His  name  was  Samson  Langpenny.  Why  it  was  so,  is 
historically  uncertain — "  Langpenny,"  probably,  owing  to 
his  connection  with  his  father.  But  "  Samson  "  is  wholly 
inexplicable,  and  was  certainly  exceedingly  hard  upon 
Master  Langpenny  as  a  boy.  For  it  procured  him  many 
lickings  at  that  delightful  season,  owing  to  logic  of  the 
usual  schoolboy  type  and  cogency. 

"  Jock,  ye  dinna  ken  wha  was  the  strongest 
man  ?  " 

"  It's  a  lee,  I  do  ken.     It  was  Samson  ! " 


103  ^^^^a  K:ELIuY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  Na,  then  it  juist  isna,  for  I  lickit  Samson  this  morn- 
in'  mysel' ! " 

The  second  boy  thought  this  over  a  moment — saw  it — 
considered  it  rather  good. 

"  Dod,"  he  said,  "  I  wad  like  to  could  say  that  mysel'. 
I  can  lick  Samson  mysel'  as  weel  as  Pate  Tamson ! " 

Whereupon  he  went  and  lurked  for  Samson  till  that 
unfortunate  youth  came  along.  Then  he  triumphantly 
established  his  claim  to  be  the  strongest  man  by  once 
more  thrashing  "  Samson  "  Langpenny,  while  the  tears  of 
the  first  combat  were  hardly  yet  dry  upon  the  cuff  of  the 
coat-sleeve  which  Master  Langpenny  ordinarily  used  in- 
stead of  a  pocket-handkerchief. 

It  was  quite  in  accordance  with  the  contrariness  of 
things,  that-Samson  Langpenny  should  develop  into  the 
superintendent  of  the  roughest  Sunday  school  in  all  the 
South  Side  of  Edinburgh.  He  had  now  a  real  handker- 
chief, as  every  one  might  see,  for  he  wore  about  equal 
parts  of  it  within  his  pocket  and  without.  The  lower 
and  unseen  portion  was  the  working  end.  Now,  there 
may  be  excellent  moral  purpose  in  a  judiciously-used 
pocket-handkerchief.  There  is,  indeed,  a  certain  literary 
man  whose  wife  avers  that  her  husband's  toilet  consists 
ordinarily  of  "  four  paper  knives,  four  pens,  and  no 
pocket-handkerchief."  But  this  person  is  not  usually 
held  up  in  Sunday  schools  as  a  shining  example.  Quite 
the  contrary. 

Now,  Cleg  Kelly  had  no  great  personal  grievance 
against  his  superintendent.  But  he  said  in  his  vulgar 
way  (for  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  was  that  kind  of  boy) 
that  "  he  did  not  cotton  to  that  wipe  o'  Langpenny's  !  " 

Cleg's  present  teacher  was  a  young  gentleman  of  the 
name  of  Percy  Somerville,  whose  principal  reasons  for 
teaching  in  Hunker  Court  were  that  he  might  improve 


IN  THE  KEY  OP  BOY  NATURAL.  103 

the  minds  of  the  youth  of  the  district,  and  that  he  might 
have  a  fair  chance  of  seeing  Miss  Cecilia  Tennant  home 
across  the  meadows.  This  last  was  a  pleasant  thing  to  do 
at  any  time,  but  specially  desirable  in  the  summer  season, 
after  the  heat  and  turmoil  of  Hunker  Court,  and  on  this 
account  Samson  Langpenny  never  lacked  for  recruits  to 
his  teaching  staff  at  that  time. 

]N'ow,  Percy  Somerville  was  "  a  very  nice  boy  " — these 
were  Miss  Tennant's  own  words.  "  But,  you  know — well, 
you  know — after  all,  he  is  only  a  boy." 

And,  in  addition,  as  they  say  in  political  circles,  when 
the  leadership  of  the  party  is  in  question,  "  there  was  no 
vacancy."     The  junior  partner  still  lived. 

Now  Percy  Somerville  undoubtedly  had  his  troubles, 
owing  chiefly  to  Celie  Tennant's  hardness  of  heart ;  but 
they  were  as  nothing  to  the  difficulties  which  afflicted 
Samson  Langpenny. 

For  instance,  it  was  in  this  wise  that  Mr.  Percy 
Somerville  was  greeted,  as  he  appeared  with  a  reluctant 
scholar  who  had  been  detected  in  trying  to  escape  by  the 
side  door  after  the  roll  had  been  marked.  (It  was  draw- 
ing near  the  time  of  the  summer  treat  into  the  country, 
so  it  behoved  the  teachers  to  be  careful  in  marking  at- 
tendances.) 

"  Go  it,  Pierce-eye !     Hit  him  one  in  the  eye  !  " 

This  exclamation  was  traced  afterwards  to  Cleg  Kelly's 
acquaintance  in  day-school  with  a  baleful  ballad  included 
in  the  Royal  Poetry  Boolc^  and  intituled  "  Chevy  Chase." 

Mr.  Somerville  thereupon  promptly  lost  his  rightful 
and  given  name,  and  became  to  all  eternity — or  so  long, 
at  least,  as  he  remained  at  Hunker  Court — "  Old  One-in- 
the  Eye." 

But  it  so  happened  that,  on  this  particular  Sunday, 
Cleg's  teacher  with  the  pugnacious  title  was  absent ;  and, 


104  CLEG   KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

in  despite  of  the  notice  prominently  placarded  on  the 
walls  behind  the  superintendent's  desk,  he  was  absent 
without  having  provided  a  substitute. 

There  was  nothing  for  it,  therefore,  but  that  Samson 
Langpenny  should  take  the  class  himself.  And  he  would 
as  soon  have  faced  a  battery  of  artillery  as  a  class  in  which 
sat  the  Egyptian  plague  of  his  school.  Cleg  Kelly.  It  was, 
indeed,  on  this  particular  day  that  there  came  to  Samson 
the  resolution  to  try  him  with  Miss  Celie  Tennant  as  a 
last  resource,  previous  to  a  second  and  final  expulsion. 

Indeed,  he  would  have  chosen  the  latter  alternative 
long  ago,  but  for  a  well-grounded  inward  belief  that,  at 
the  close  of  the  hour  after  Cleg's  compulsory  exit,  there 
would  not  be  a  whole  pane  of  glass  in  all  the  many  win- 
dows of  Hunker  Court  Sunday  school.  He  remembered 
well  as  a  teacher  the  awful  scene  which  accompanied 
the  first  expulsion  under  the  reign  of  "  Pund  o'  Cannles  " 
— a  scene  which  since  his  return  had  made  Cleg  almost 
idolised  by  the  scholars  of  Hunker  Court. 

Samson  Langpenny  sat  down  to  teach  the  Border  Euf- 
fians  of  the  Sooth  Back — Cleg  Kelly's  class.  ISTow  he  was 
out  of  place,  and  knew  it.  His  true  sphere  in  a  Sunday 
school  was  in  the  infant  department;  where,  with  a 
packet  of  butterscotch  and  "Hush-a-bye,  Baby!"  he 
might  have  been  a  great  and  shining  success. 

Why  the  minister  did  not  see  this  was  a  standing  prob- 
lem in  Hunker  Court.  But,  as  the  teachers  said  one  to 
another  on  their  several  ways  home : 

"  It  is  so  hard  to  get  the  minister  to  see  anything — 
and  as  for  his  wife " 

"  Can  you  say  your  Psalm — metrical  version  ?  "  asked 
Samson  Langpenny,  as  though  of  a  certainty  they  were 
all  letter-perfect  in  the  prose  version. 

"  /  can,"  said  Cleg  Kelly  promptly. 


IN  THE  KEY  OF  BOY  NATURAL.      105 

"  Then,"  said  Samson,  smiling,  well-pleased,  "  we  will 
take  you  last." 

With  various  hitches  and  shoves,  the  awkward  and 
unruly  class  bored  its  way  through  the  Psalm — "  metrical 
version."  An  impartial  observer  might  have  noticed  that 
the  teacher  contributed  about  ninety-five  per  cent,  of  the 
recitation  in  the  form  of  hints  and  suggestions.  ISTever- 
theless,  each  boy,  having  completed  his  portion,  sat  back 
with  a  proud  consciousness  that  he  had  done  his  duty 
with  even  needless  promptitude  and  accuracy.  Also  it 
was  an  established  canon  of  the  place  that  so  soon  as  each 
boy  was  released  from  the  eye  of  the  teacher,  he  instantly 
put  his  hand  slyly  under  the  bench.  Then  he  either 
nipped  his  neighbour  in  a  place  which  made  the  sufferer 
take  an  instant  interest  in  the  circumstance,  or  else  he 
incontinently  stuck  a  pin  into  him. 

In  either  case  the  boy  assaulted  remarked :  "  Ouch  ! 
please,  sir,  Tam  Eogerson's  nippin'  me.  Wull  ye  speak  to 
him?" 

But  this  was  only  the  usual  routine,  and  provoked  no 
remark. 

When,  however,  the  superintendent  came  to  Cleg  Kelly, 
and  that  diligent  young  student  began  at  once  to  reel  olf 
the  twenty-third  Psalm  with  vivacity  and  despatch — the 
psalm  which  the  entire  body  of  Scottish  youth  learns  long 
before  the  A,  B,  C — it  was  obviously  time  to  interfere. 

"  If  ye  please,  sir  (or  whether  or  no),  that's  no  the 
richt  yin ! "  said  Tam  Kogerson,  who  ran  Cleg  close  for 
the  place  of  honour  as  the  "  warst  loon  i'  the  schule ! " 
This  was  a  post  of  as  great  distinction  at  Hunker  Court  as 
the  position  of  clown  in  a  circus. 

Cleg's  answer  was  twofold. 

To  Tam  Kogerson  he  remarked — under  his  breath,  it 
is  true,  but  with  startling  distinctness — 


106  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  Wait  till  I  get  you  oot,  ma  man ;  I'll  warm  you." 

And  Tarn  Kogerson  grew  hot  from  head  to  foot,  for 
he  knew  that  he  was  as  good  as  warmed  already. 

On  the  other  hand,  Cleg  gave  the  answer  of  peace  to 
his  teacher : 

"  Please,  sir,  Maister  Langshanks — penny,  I  mean — 
my  faither  is  a  Papish — an'  he  winna  let  me  learn  ony 
ither  Psalm  but  the  three-an'-twunty.  But  I  hae  learned 
HER  to  richts  !  " 

After  this  exhibition  of  the  rights  of  the  nonconform- 
ing conscience  in  strange  places.  Cleg  continued  his  lesson 
in  Hunker  Court  under  the  vague  tutelage  of  Samson 
Langpenny.  Kow  Samson  was  unaware  of  the  strong 
feeling  of  resentment  which  was  gathering  in  the  bosoms  of 
his  scholars,  owing  to  the  length  of  his  "  introductory  ex- 
ercises." The  Psalm  and  the  "  questions  "  were  all  in  the 
day's  work,  but  Samson  introduced  a  prayer  in  the  middle 
of  the  teaching  hour,  which  Cleg  Kelly  considered  to  be 
wholly  uncalled  for  and  indeed  little  short  of  impious. 

So,  as  soon  as  Samson  shut  his  eyes.  Cleg  silently  joined 
the  class  nearest  him,  and  the  other  scholars  of  the  absent 
Mr.  Somerville  did  likewise.  When  Samson  opened  his 
eyes  and  awoke  to  the  state  of  the  case,  he  found  himself 
wholly  without  a  single  scholar  to  whom  instruction  could 
be  given. 

Cleg  had  betaken  himself  to  the  class  of  Miss  Eobina 
Semple,  an  excellent  maiden  lady  of  much  earnestness  and 
vigour.  She  was  so  busy  explaining  the  Scripture  lesson, 
that  she  did  not  at  first  observe  the  addition  to  the  num- 
ber of  her  scholars  in  the  wholly  undesirable  person  of 
Master  Kelly. 

The  lesson  was  the  parable  of  the  lame  man  at  the 
pool  of  Siloam. 

Now  in  Miss  Semple's  class  there  was  a  lame  boy 


IN  THE  KEY  OF  BOY  NATURAL.      107 

named  Chris  Cullen.  He  sat  listening  with  strained  at- 
tention and  invincible  eagerness  to  every  word  which  fell 
from  his  teacher.  Cleg,  to  whom  all  lessons  were  much 
alike,  listened  also — chiefly,  it  may  be,  because  he  saw  the 
reflection  of  an  angel's  smile  on  the  face  of  the  lame  boy, 
Chris  Cullen. 

"  What  gars  ye  .hearken  like  that,  Chris  ?  "  whispered 
Cleg,  with  some  anxiety.  Only  the  news  of  a  prize  fight 
would  have  brought  such  an  expression  of  interest  to  his 
own  face,  or  (it  might  be)  the  announcement  that  his 
father  had  got  ten  years. 

"  It's  aboot  a  man  that  got  a  dock,  an'  then  he  could 
walk ! "  said  Chris,  speaking  hurriedly  over  his  shoulder, 
being  anxious  not  to  miss  a  word. 

"  What  hindered  him  to  dook  afore  ?  "  asked  Cleg. 

"  He  couldna  get  doon  to  the  water-edge,"  said  Chris. 

"  Was  the  bobby  there  ?  "  persisted  Cleg,  to  whom  the 
limit  of  where  he  might  not  go  or  might  not  do  coincided 
with  the  beat  of  the  officers  of  Her  Majesty's  peace. 

"  Wheesht !  "  interjected  Chris  Cullen,  "  she's  telling  it 
the  noo ! " 

For  the  lame  boy,  his  teacher  existed  for  this  purpose 
alone. 

The  calm,  high  voice  of  Miss  Robina  Semple  went  on 
— Robina  Semple,  whom  some  called  "  a  plain  old  maid  " — 

"And  so  the  poor  man,  who  had  no  one  to  carry  him 
down  to  the  edge  when  the  angel  troubled  the  water,  had 
to  stay  where  he  was,  and  somebody  else  got  in  before 
him !    Are  you  not  sorry  for  him  ?  " 

"  IN'ever  heed,  Chris  Cullen,"  broke  in  Cleg,  "  I'll  cairry 
ye  doon  on  my  back  mysel' !  There's  naebody  will  daur 
to  hinder  ye  dookin'  in  ony  dub  ye  like,  when  I'm  cairry- 
in'  ye ! " 

Cleg  Kelly  was  certainly  acquiring,  by  contact  if  in  no 


108  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

other  way,  certain  Christian  ideas.  For  the  rest  he  was 
still  frankly  pagan. 

Now  at  this  particular  date  Hunker  Court  Sabbath 
school  was  run  under  a  misapprehension.  It  was  the 
idea  of  the  superintendent  that  a  little  sugared  advice 
would  tame  the  young  savages  of  the  courts  and  wynds. 
Hence  the  hour  of  instruction  was  largely  taken  up  with 
confused  sound  and  fury.  Samson  would  have  been  wiser 
if  he  had  suborned  a  prize-fighter  of  good  moral  princi- 
ples to  teach  the  young  idea  of  Hunker  Court  how  to 
shoot  head  foremost  out  at  the  door.  Under  these  cir- 
cumstances it  is  conceivable  that  some  good  might  have 
been  done.  But  as  it  was,  under  the  placid  consulship  of 
Samson  Langpenny,  teachers  and  scholars  alike  had  a 
good  deal  of  physical  exercise  of  an  interesting  and  health- 
ful sort.  But  the  moral  and  religious  improvement  was 
certainly  to  seek. 

Yet  in  the  class  of  Miss  Semple,  that  excellent  woman 
and  good  teacher  of  youth,  there  was  one  scholar  who 
that  Sunday  had  heard  to  profit.  It  was  Cleg  Kelly.  He 
carried  home  little  Chris  Cullen  on  his  shoulders,  and  if 
no  angel  stirred  the  waters  of  the  gutter  puddles  as  these 
two  went  their  way,  and  if  no  immediate  healing  resulted, 
both  Chris  and  Cleg  were  the  better  for  the  lesson  of  the 
troubling  of  the  waters. 

Even  Samson  Langpenny  did  not  go  to  Hunker  Court 
that  day  in  vain,  for  he  went  along  with  Chris  and  Cleg 
part  of  the  way  home.  Pride  was  not  among  Samson's 
failings,  and,  as  we  know,  bashf ulness  was  equally  absent 
from  the  black  catalogue  of  the  sins  of  our  hero. 

"  What  for  are  you  carrying  Chris  ? "  asked  Samson 
Langpenny,  who,  though  he  had  many  weaknesses,  had 
also  large  and  sufficient  virtues  of  earnestness  and  self- 
sacrifice. 


IN  THE  KEY  OF  BOY  NATURAL.  109 

"Weel,  ye  see,  sir,"  said  Cleg,  trotting  alongside 
cheerily,  his  burden  upon  his  shoulders,  "  it's  true  that 
Chris  can  gang  himsel'.  But  ye  ken  yersel'  gin  the  laddies 
are  verra  ceevil  when  they  get  oot  o'  schule.  They  micht 
knock  the  wee  yin  ower.  But  when  he  is  up  on  my 
shoothers,  they  juist  darena.  My  certes,  but  I  wad  like 
to  fa'  acquaint  wi'  the  yin  that  wad  as  muckle  as  lift  a 
'  paver '  to  him.     I  wad  '  paver '  him ! " 

The  superintendent  smiled,  though  as  a  general  rule 
he  deprecated  an  appeal  to  arms.  Cleg  had  also  a  little 
sound  advice  to  offer  his  superior. 

"  Ye  dinna  lick  aneuch  in  your  schule,  Maister !  "  con- 
tinued Cleg,  for  he  was  unselfishly  desirous  that  everyone 
should  succeed  in  the  sphere  of  life  to  which  Providence 
had  called  him.  He  did  not,  it  is  true,  see  any  great  rea- 
son for  a  man's  having  taken  to  keeping  Sunday  school. 
Summer  treats  in  the  country  might  surely  have  been 
given  without  them — likewise  tea  soirees.  But  since  these 
things  had  been  mixed  up  together,  the  instruction  part, 
however  unnecessary,  should  certainly  be  carried  out  in  a 
workmanlike  fashion. 

"Not  lick  enough?"  queried  the  superintendent, 
aghast.  He  thought  he  could  not  have  heard  aright — the 
pest  of  Hunker  Court  counselling  corporal  punishment ! 

"  Aye,  an'  div  ye  ken,"  Cleg  went  on,  "  div  ye  ken  I 
can  tell  ye,  wha  ye  could  get  to  keep  the  laddies  as  quaite 
as  pussy." 

The  superintendent  looked  at  the  rebel  Head  Centre 
of  Hunker  Court,  bending  with  the  weight  of  Chris 
Cullen  upon  his  shoulders.  It  did  not  strike  him  that 
Cleg  might  also  be  able  to  support  his  own  crippled  steps 
upon  his  willing  heathen  shoulders. 

"  What  would  you  advise  ?  "  he  asked  at  last,  with  a 
certain  pathetic  humility. 


110  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  There's  a  maister  at  oor  day  schule  that's  awsome 
handy  wi'  the  taws,  an  a'  the  laddies  are  feared  o'  him.  He 
comes  to  your  kirk — I  hae  seen  him  gang  in  the  door.  Ye 
micht  get  him  for  a  teacher  in  yer  Sabbath  schule  !  Then 
the  boys  wad  hae  to  be  quaite.     His  name's  MacRobb." 

"  Why  would  the  boys  have  to  be  quiet  then  ?  "  said 
Samson  Langpenny,  who  did  not  yet  understand  what  his 
ragged  mentor  was  driving  at. 

"Dinna  ye  see,  sir,"  said  Cleg  eagerly,  "the  boys 
daurna  play  their  capers  on  Sabbaths  at  Hunker  Court, 
an'  gang  to  his  schule  on  Mondays.  Na,  he  wad  fair  skin 
them  alive.     It  wad  mak'  an  awfu'  differ  to  you,  sir." 

"  But  I  do  not  know  Mr,  MacEobb,"  said  Samson ; 
"  how  can  I  get  him  to  give  up  his  Sabbath  afternoons  to 
teach  in  such  a  noisy  place  ?  He  will  say  that  he  gets 
enough  of  teaching  through  the  week." 

"  Gae  'way ! "  said  Cleg  in  his  vernacular,  forgetting 
for  the  moment  to  whom  he  spoke,  "  gae  'way,  man !  Get 
bonny  Miss  Tennant,  the  lass  in  the  yella  frock,  to  speer 
him.  He'll  come  fast  aneuch  then.  He  does  naething 
else  in  the  kirk  but  glower  at  her  a'  the  time  the  minis- 
ter's preaching." 

Thus  Cleg  jested  with  love,  and  used  its  victims  at 
his  pleasure. 


ADVENTUEE  XVIL 

THE   KKUCKLE   DUSTEKS. 

SooN'  after  this  Cleg  Kelly  became  a  member  of  a 
young  lady's  class,  in  a  manner  which  has  been  elsewhere 
related.* 

*  The  SticUt  Minister,  p.  192. 


THE  KNUCKLE  DUSTERS.  m 

That  young  lady  was  Miss  Cecilia  Tennant,  otherwise 
known  as  Celie — a  young  lady  much  admired  by  all  who 
knew  her  (and  by  some  who  did  not,  but  wanted  to) ;  and 
especially  admired  by  Mr.  Donald  Iverach,  junior  partner  in 
the  firm  on  whose  premises  the  class  was  held.  I  have  also 
related  the  tragical  events  which  preceded  the  formation  of 
the  boys'  class,  organised  under  the  guidance  and  tutelage 
of  Cleg  Kelly.  But  it  soon  became  evident  that  something 
more  than  a  night  class  was  necessary,  if  any  impression 
were  to  be  made  on  the  wild  Arabs  of  the  Sooth  Back. 

"  Ye  see  the  way  o'  it  is  this,  Miss  Celie,"  Cleg  ex- 
plained. "  Ye  canna  keep  a  boy  frae  ill-doing  by  juist 
telling  him  aboot  Jacob  for  an  hour  in  the  week.  There's 
a'  day  in  the  shop,  wi'  the  gaffer  swearin'  blue  murder 
even  on,  an'  ill-talk  an'  ither  things  that  I  juist  canna  tell 
ye.  Then  there's  every  nicht,  when  we  drap  work.  What 
can  we  do  but  stand  about  the  streets,  or  start  the  Gang 
an'  look  aboot  us  for  a  bobby  to  chivvy,  or  else  for  some- 
thing handy  for  mf tin'  ? ' " 

^'  But,  Cleg,"  cried  Celie,  much  alarmed,  "  surely  I  do 
not  understand  you  to  say  that  you  steal  ?  " 

''Na,"  said  Cleg,  "we  dinna  steal.  We  only  'nick' 
things  whiles ! " 

Celie  had  heard,  indeed,  of  the  "  mobs,"  the  "  unions," 
the  "gangs,"  the  "crowds."  But  she  thought  them  simply 
amiable  and  rather  silly  secret  societies,  such  as  her  own 
brothers  used  to  make  a  great  deal  of  unnecessary  secrecy 
about — calling  themselves  "Bloody  Bill  of  the  Eanch," 
"  Kavajo  Tommy,"  and  other  stupid  names.  She  had  re- 
marked the  same  mania  in  Cleg  sometimes,  and  had  some 
reason  to  believe  that  all  boys  are  alike,  whatever  may  be 
their  station  in  life. 

But  Cleg  soon  put  his  friend  out  of  the  danger  of  any 
such  mistake. 


112  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  Mind,  say  ^As  sure  as  daith,'*  an'  ye'll  cut  your  throat 
gin  ye  tell,"  said  Cleg,  very  earnestly,  "  an'  I'll  tell  ye,  aye, 
an'  make  ye  a  member  !  " 

Cleg  was  about  to  reveal  state  secrets,  and  he  did  not 
want  to  run  any  risks.  Celie  promised  faithfully  the  ut- 
most discretion. 

"  Weel,  Miss  Celie,  I  can  see  that  ye  are  no  gaun  to  do 
muckle  guid  amang  us  boys,  if  I  dinna  tell  ye.  An'  I 
want  ye  no  to  believe  ony  lees,  like  what  are  telled  to  the 
ministers  an'  folk  like  them.  There's  mair  ill  in  the  Sooth 
Back  than  can  be  pitten  richt  wi'  a  track.  I  canna  bide 
them  tracks " 

The  distribution  of  tracts  was  an  old  grievance  of 
Cleg's.  But  Celie  earnestly  and  instantly  put  him  on  the 
plain  way  again,  for  if  he  once  began  upon  "tracks," 
there  was  no  telling  if  ever  she  would  get  any  nearer 
to  her  promised  lesson  on  the  good  and  evil  of  the  boys' 
unions. 

Celie  found  herself  as  eager  as  ever  was  her  first  moth- 
er Eve,  to  eat  of  the  tree  of  the  forbidden  knowledge. 

"  Gie  us  your  han',  Miss  Celie,  I'll  no  hurt  ye,"  said 
Cleg. 

Celie  drew  off  her  dainty  glove,  and  instantly  extended 
a  hand  that  was  white  and  small  beyond  all  the  boy's  im- 
agining. Cleg  took  it  reverently  in  his  dirty,  work-broad- 
ened paw.  He  touched  the  slender  fingers  as  if  they  were 
made  of  thistle-down  and  might  blow  away  accidentally. 
So  he  held  his  breath.  Then  he  took  out  his  knife,  one 
with  a  point  like  a  needle,  which  had  been  used  in  a  shoe 
factory. 

Perhaps  Celie  winced  a  little  as  he  opened  the  blade, 
but,  if  it  were  so,  it  was  very  little  indeed.  Yet  it  was 
enough  to  be  perceptible  to  her  very  sincere  admirer. 

Cleg  let  her  hand  drop,  and  without  a  pause  thrust  the 


THE  KNUCKLE  DUSTERS.  II3 

sharp  point  into  the  ball  of  his  own  thumb,  squeezing 
therefrom  a  single  drop  of  blood. 

"  It's  no  juist  exactly  richt,  no  to  hae  your  ain  blood, 
ye  ken  !  "  he  explained  gravely ;  "  but  as  ye  dinna  tell  so 
mony  lees  as  the  boys,  maybe  mine  will  do  as  weel  this 
time  to  take  the  oath  with." 

With  a  clean  new  pen  from  Celie's  desk,  Cleg  made  on 
her  palm  the  sign  of  a  cross,  and  for  her  life  the  initiated 
dared  not  so  much  as  let  her  hand  quiver  or  her  eyelid 
droop. 

She  knew  that  the  occasion  was  an  entirely  critical 
one.  But  in  a  moment  it  was  over,  and  Celie  Tennant 
was  admitted  a  bond  fide  acting  member  of  the  Sooth  Back 
Gang,  with  full  right  in  its  secrets  and  to  the  disposal  of 
one  full  and  undivided  share  of  its  profits.  No  questions 
to  be  asked  as  to  how  these  profits  were  come  by.  Indeed, 
from  that  moment  there  is  little  doubt  that  Celie  Tennant 
might  have  been  indicted  for  reset,  conspiracy,  and  crimes 
infinitely  various. 

That  night  at  Miss  Tennant's  class  there  was  a  full  at- 
tendance, and  the  opening  was  delayed  owing  to  necessity 
arising  for  the  expulsion  of  a  boy,  apparently  in  no  way 
offending  against  discipline. 

Celie  looked  the  question  she  dared  not  speak. 

"^e'5  no  yin  0'  us!^'*  explained  Cleg  in  a  whisper. 
"  He  belongs  to  the  Potter-raw  gang — a  low  lot." 

Celie  felt  morally  raised  by  the  consciousness  of  be- 
longing to  a  gang  of  the  most  high-toned  "  nickums  "  in 
the  whole  city. 

Then  Cleg,  after  the  briefest  opening  exercises  had 
been  endured,  explained  that  there  remained  for  that  even- 
ing only  the  ceremony  of  reception  of  a  new  member  who 
had  already  been  sworn  in.  In  this  Celie  had  to  concur 
with  as  good  a  grace  as  possible.     She  was  then  and  there 


114  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

appointed,  with  acclamation,  a  full  member  of  the  hon- 
ourable (or  dishonourable,  according  to  the  point  of  view) 
society  of  the  Knuckle  Dusters  of  the  Sooth  Back.  It 
was  generally  felt  after  this,  that  Jacob  (the  Patriarch  of 
that  name)  could  very  well  afford  to  wait  over  for  a  little. 

But,  after  the  ceremony,  when  Celie  looked  again  at 
her  class,  she  could  hardly  believe  her  eyes.  Were  these 
the  lads  who  night  after  night  had  stood  before  her  with 
faces  sleeked  and  smugged  with  arrant  hypocrisy,  or  had 
looked  up  at  her  after  some  bout  of  intolerable  mischief, 
as  demure  as  kittens  after  spilling  a  saucer  of  milk  ? 

A  certain  seriousness  and  comradeship  pervaded  the 
meeting.  But  Cleg  was  not  yet  at  the  end  of  his  sur- 
prises. 

"  I  perpose,"  he  said,  "  that  we  hae  a  Club  a'  for 
oorsels." 

The  meeting  with  unanimous  palm  and  hoof  signified 
its  approval  of  this  grand  proposal,  obviously  one  which 
had  been  discussed  before. 

"  We  will  hae  it  in  here,  and  we'll  pay  to  be  mem- 
bers— an'  that  will  do  for  the  coals,  and  we'll  hae 
smokin' " 

Celie  sat  aghast.  Events  were  precipitating  them- 
selves with  a  vengeance.  Indeed,  surprise  sat  so  manifest 
on  her  countenance  that  Cleg  thought  it  wise  to  point  out 
its  genuine  character  to  his  brother  members.  It  would 
never  do  for  them  to  believe  that  the  great  idea  of  the 
club  had  not  originated  with  themselves. 

"  She  kens  nocht  aboot  it,  but  I  ken  fine  she's  gaun  to 
Stan'  in  wi'  us ! "  he  explained,  putting  her,  as  it  were,  on 
her  honour  and  under  the  solemn  seal  of  the  bloody  cross 
of  the  Knuckle  Dusters. 

In  this  Celie,  bound  by  her  oath,  had  indeed  no 
choice. 


THE  KNUCKLE  DUSTERS.  II5 

She  must  of  a  surety  stand  by  them.  But  a  serious 
difficulty  occurred  to  her. 

"Lads,"  she  said,  "we  have  only  the  right  to  this 
place  for  one  night  in  the  week.  How  can  we  occupy  it 
every  night  ?  " 

All  the  boys  laughed  loud.  The  question  was  might- 
ily amusing.  Indeed,  Celie  was  often  most  amusing  to 
them  when  she  had  no  intention  of  being  so. 

"  Of  coorse,  we  ken,  ye  hae  only  to  ask  him !  "  they 
said,  with  one  solid  voice  of  general  concurrence. 

Celie  felt  herself  beginning  to  burn  low  down  on  her 
neck,  and  it  made  her  angry  to  think  that  in  a  minute 
more  she  would  blush  like  a  great  baby  just  out  of  the 
senior  class  of  the  Ladies'  College.  The  boys  watched 
her  maliciously  till  she  looked  really  distressed,  and  then 
Cleg  struck  gallantly  into  the  breach. 

"  Chaps,"  he  cried,  "  I  think  we  should  ask  for  oorsels. 
We  are  gaun  to  elec'  a  commy-tee  and  run  the  show. 
Dinna  let  us  begin  by  troublin'  Miss  Tennant.  We'll 
gang  an'  ask  oorsels.     Gin  ye  are  feared,  I'm  no  I  " 

Crash !  came  a  stone  through  the  window.  All  leapt 
to  their  feet  in  a  moment. 

"  It's  that  dirty  scoondrel  frae  the  Potter-raw.  Oot 
after  him  !  "  cried  Cleg. 

Whereupon  the  newly  constituted  Knuckle  Dusters' 
Club  tumultuously  detached  itself  for  police  duty.  There 
was  a  scurry  along  the  highway,  a  fight  at  a  street  corner. 
Two  boys  got  a  black  eye  apiece.  A  policeman  was  as- 
saulted in  the  half -humorous  way  peculiar  to  the  district. 
A  letter-deliverer  sat  down  suddenly  on  the  pavement, 
to  the  delay  of  Her  Majesty's  mails,  and  after  five  well- 
spent  and  happy  minutes,  the  Club  re-entered,  wiping  its 
brow,  and  Cleg  cried  : 

"  Three  cheers  for  the  Knuckle  Dusters'  Club !    Miss 


116  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

Celie  to  be  the  president  for  ever  an'  ever.  We'll  meet 
the  morn's  nicht  to  elec'  the  commy-tee.  A7id  there's 
twenty  meenits  left  for  Jacob  !  " 

And  so  the  Knuckle  Dusters'  Club  sat  patiently  down 
to  endure  its  Scripture  lesson. 


ADVENTURE  XVIIL 

BIG   SMITH   SUBDUES  THE   KNUCKLE   DUSTERS. 

The  reader  of  this  random  chronicle  has  not  forgot- 
ten the  Troglodytes — the  Cave  Dwellers,  the  Railing 
Roosters — alien  to  the  race  of  men,  with  manners  and  cus- 
toms darkly  their  own. 

These  are  they  with  whom  Cleg  had  to  do,  when  he 
amused  himself  all  that  summer  day  opposite  the  house 
of  the  sergeant.  Of  the  Troglodytes  the  chief  were  Tarn 
Luke,  who  for  a  paltry  consideration  gave  his  time  during 
the  day  to  furthering  the  affairs  of  Tamson,  the  baker ; 
Cleaver's  boy,  who  similarly  conducted  the  butcher's  busi- 
ness next  door;  and  the  grocer's  boy,  who  answered  to 
the  name  of  "  Marg  " — that  is,  if  he  who  used  it  was  very 
much  bigger  and  stronger  than  himself.  In  other  cir- 
cumstances "  Marg  "  chased  and  hammered  according  to 
his  ability  the  boy  who  called  the  name  after  him — for  it 
was  contracted  from  "  margarine,"  and  involved  a  distinct 
slur  upon  his  line  of  business. 

But  each  man  of  the  Troglodytes  was  a  Knuckle  Dust- 
er. In  the  Club  they  were  banded  together  for  offence 
and  defence.  In  the  days  before  Cleg  took  in  hand  to  re- 
organise the  club,  they  had  a  good  many  things  in  com- 
mon besides  the  fear  of  the  constable. 


BIG  SMITH  SUBDUES  THE  KNUCKLE  DUSTERS.   II7 

Now,  each  boy  was  most  respectable  during  his  hours 
of  business.  There  was  no  "  sneaking  "  the  goods  of  their 
own  masters.  The  till  was  safe,  and  they  did  not  carry 
away  the  stock-in-trade  to  sell  it.  But  that  was  pretty 
much  all  the  way  their  honour  went.  Their  kind  of 
honesty,  it  is  to  be  feared,  was  chiefly  of  the  "  best 
policy "  sort.  Fun  was  fun,  and  "  sneaking "  was  the 
breath  of  life;  but  it  was  one  thing  to  "fake  an  apple," 
and  altogether  another  to  be  "  nicked  "  for  stealing  from 
one's  master.  The  latter  meant  the  loss  of  situation 
without  a  character.  Now  a  character  is  a  valuable  asset. 
It  is  negotiable,  and  must  be  taken  care  of.  To  steal 
does  not  hurt  one's  character — only  to  be  found  out.  To 
break  a  plate-glass  window  with  a  stone  does  not  harm  a 
character  as  much  as  it  damages  the  window ;  but  to  be 
an  hour  late  three  mornings  running  is  fatal.  So  Cleav- 
er's boy  had  a  character ;  "  Marg  "  had  a  character,  and 
even  Tam  Luke  had  a  character.  They  were  all  beauties. 
Our  own  Cleg  had  half  a  dozen  diiferent  characters — 
most  of  them,  however,  rather  indifferent. 

But  there  is  no  mistake  that,  under  the  influence  of 
Celie  Tennant  and  the  new  Knuckle  Dusters'  Club,  they 
were  all  in  the  way  of  improvement.  The  good  character 
of  their  hours  of  work  already  began  to  lap  over  into  their 
play- time.     But  thus  it  was  not  always. 

Just  before  its  re-inauguration  the  Sooth  Back  "  mob  " 
had  been  rather  down  on  its  luck.  Cleg  was  among  them 
only  intermittently.  They  had  had  a  fight  with  Bob 
Sowerby's  gang,  which  frequented  the  Pleasance  lands, 
and  had  been  ignominiously  defeated. 

Worse  than  all,  they  had  come  across  "  Big "  Smith, 
the  athletic  missionary  of  the  Pleasance.  He  was  so 
called  to  distinguish  him  from  "  Little  "  Smith,  a  distin- 
guished predecessor  of  the  same  name,  who  was  popularly 


118  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

understood  to  have  read  every  book  that  was.  Big  Smith 
was  not  distinguished  in  the  same  way.  All  the  same,  he 
was  both  distinguished  and  popular. 

On  this  occasion  he  was  addressing  his  weekly  meeting 
underneath  one  of  the  great  houses.  The  Knuckle  Dust- 
ers thought  it  good  sport  to  ascend  to  the  window  of  the 
common  stair,  and  prepare  missiles  both  fluid  and  solid. 
This  was  because  they  belonged  to  the  Sooth  Back,  and 
did  not  know  Big  Smith. 

Big  Smith's  mode  of  exhortation  was  the  prophetic 
denunciatory.  He  was  no  Jeremiah — a  Boanerges  of  the 
slums  rather.  He  dealt  in  warm  accusations  and  vigorous 
personal  applications.  He  was  very  decidedly  no  minor 
prophet,  for  he  had  a  black  beard  like  an  Astrakhan  rug, 
and  a  voice  that  could  outroar  a  Gilmerton  carter.  Also 
he  was  six  feet  high,  and  when  he  crossed  his  arms  it  was 
like  a  long-range  marker  trying  to  fold  his  arms  round  a 
target. 

"  Sinners  in  ISTumber  Seventy-three  !  "  cried  Big  Smith, 
and  his  voice  penetrated  into  every  den  and  corner  of  that 
vast  rabbit  warren,  "  you  will  not  come  out  to  hear  me, 
but  I'll  make  ye  hear  me  yet,  if  I  scraich  till  the  Day  of 
Judgment.  Sinners  in  Kumber  Seventy- three,  ye  are  a 
desperate  bad  lot.    I  hae  kenned  ye  this  ten  year — but " 

Clash! — came  a  pail  of  dirty  water  out  of  the  stair 
window  where  the  Knuckle  Dusters,  yet  completely  unre- 
generate,  were  concealed. 

Big  Smith  was  taking  breath  for  his  next  overwhelm- 
ing sentence,  but  he  never  got  it  delivered.  For  as  soon 
as  he  realised  that  the  insult  was  meant  for  him.  Big 
Smith  pushed  his  hat  firmly  down  on  the  back  of  his 
head  and  started  up  the  stair.  He  had  his  oak  staff  in 
his  hand,  a  stick  of  fibre  and  responsibility,  as  indeed  it 
had  need  to  be. 


BIG  SMITH  SUBDUES  THE  KNUCKLE  DUSTERS.   119 

The  first  he  got  his  hands  upon  was  Tarn  Luke. 

Tarn  was  standing  at  the  back  of  a  door,  squeezing 
himself  against  the  wall  as  flat  as  a  skate. 

"  Come  oot ! "  said  Big  Smith,  in  commanding  tones. 

"  It  wasna  me ! "  said  Tarn  Luke,  who  very  earnestly 
wished  himself  elsewhere. 

"  Come  oot ! "  said  Big  Smith,  missionary. 

Tarn  Luke  came — not  wholly  by  his  own  will,  but  be- 
cause the  hand  of  Big  Smith  seemed  to  gather  up  most 
of  his  garments  at  once.  And  he  grasped  them  hard  too. 
Tam  Luke's  toes  barely  touched  the  ground. 

"  It  wasna  me  ! "  repeated  Tam  Luke. 

*'  What's  a'  this,  then  ?  "  queried  Big  Smith,  shaking 
him  comprehensively,  as  the  coal-man  of  the  locality 
empties  a  hundredweight  sack  into  the  bunker.  Half  a 
dozen  vegetables,  more  or  less  gamey  in  flavour,  dropped 
out  of  his  pockets  and  trotted  irregularly  down  the  stair. 

Then  Tam  Luke,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  believed  in 
the  power  of  the  Church  militant.  The  Knuckle  Dusters 
on  the  landing  above  listened  with  curious  qualms,  hear- 
ing Tam  singing  out  his  petitions  in  a  kind  of  inappeas- 
able  rapture.  Then,  suddenly,  they  bethought  them  that 
it  was  time  they  got  out  of  their  present  invidious  posi- 
tion, and  they  made  a  rush  downstairs. 

But  Big  Smith  stood  on  the  steps,  still  holding  Tam 
Luke,  and  with  a  foot  like  a  Sutton's  furniture  van,  he 
tripped  each  one  impartially  as  he  passed,  till  quite  a  little 
haycock  of  Knuckle  Dusters  was  formed  at  an  angle  of 
the  stair. 

Then  Big  Smith,  in  a  singularly  able-bodied  way, 
argued  with  the  heap  in  general  for  the  good  of  their 
souls ;  and  the  noise  of  the  oak  stick  brought  out  all  the 
neighbours  to  look  on  with  approbation.  They  had  no 
sympathy   with  the    Knuckle    Dusters  whatever.     And 


120  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

though,  they  continually  troubled  the  peace  of  mind  of 
Big  Smith  with  their  goings  on,  yet  they  were  loyal  to 
him  in  their  own  way,  and  rejoiced  exceedingly  when 
they  saw  him  "  dressing  the  droddums  "  of  the  youths  of 
the  Sooth  Back  Gang. 

"  Lay  on  till  them,  Maister  Smith  ! — bringin'  disgrace 
on  oor  stair,"  cried  a  hodman's  wife  from  the  top  land- 
ing, looking  over  with  the  brush  in  her  hand.  And  Mais- 
ter Smith  certainly  obeyed  her.  Each  Knuckle  Duster 
crawled  hurriedly  away  as  soon  as  he  could  disentangle 
himself.  And  as  each  passed  the  lower  landings  the  wives 
harassed  his  retreat  with  brushes  and  pokers  for  bringing 
shame  on  the  unstained  good  name  of  Number  Seventy- 
three  in  the  Pleasance. 

"It'll  learn  them  no  to  meddle  wi'  oor  missionary," 
they  said,  as  they  retired  to  drink  tea  syrup,  which  had 
been  stewing  on  the  hearth  since  morning. 

For  they  felt  proud  of  Big  Smith,  and  told  their  hus- 
bands, actual  and  attached,  of  the  great  doings  upon  their 
return  at  night.  It  became  a  standing  taunt  as  far  as  the 
Arch  of  Abbeyhill  for  a  month,  "  I'll  send  Big  Smith  till 
ye  ! "  And  there  was  not  a  Knuckle  Duster  that  did  not 
hang  his  head  at  the  remembrance.  The  Pleasance  was 
naturally  very  proud  of  its  missionary,  and  offered  long 
odds  on  him  as  against  any  missionary  in  the  town.  "  He 
could  lick  them  a'  wi'  his  hand  tied  ahint  his  back,"  said 
the  Pleasance  in  its  wholly  reasonable  pride. 

^Now  this  was  the  cause  of  the  depression  which  for  a 
long  time  had  rested  upon  the  Knuckle  Dusters  and  tar- 
nished the  glory  of  their  name.  So  low  had  they  sunk 
that  it  was  more  than  a  month  since  any  of  them  had 
been  up  for  assaulting  the  police.  So  that,  as  you  may 
see,  things  were  indeed  coming  to  a  pretty  pass.  From 
all  this  the  new  Club  was  to  save  them. 


BIG  SMITH  SUBDUES  THE  KNUCKLE  DUSTERS.  121 

First  of  all,  it  re-established  them  in  their  own  self- 
esteem,  which  is  a  great  point.  Then  it  gained  them  the 
respect  of  others  as  well,  for  Miss  Tennant  was  a  much 
honoured  person  in  the  Sooth  Back.  Lastly,  the  Club 
fire  burned  a  half  a  ton  of  coals  in  the  fortnight,  and  the 
fact  was  fame  in  itself. 

So  the  Knuckle  Dusters  squared  themselves  up,  and 
for  the  first  time  since  the  affair  of  Big  Smith  they  looked 
a  bobby  in  the  face.  More  than  that,  they  actually  began 
to  show  some  of  their  old  spirit  again. 

Specially  did  they  delight  to  tell  the  story  of  the  Leith 
chief  of  police  and  the  apples.  It  was,  indeed,  enough  to 
gild  any  "  mob  "  with  a  permanent  halo  of  glory. 

This  is  the  tale  at  its  briefest.  But  it  took  four  nights 
to  tell  in  the  Club,  working  three  hours  a  night. 

The  chief,  in  the  plainest  of  plain  clothes,  was  hasten- 
ing down  the  shore  to  catch  the  Aberdour  boat,  for  he 
was  a  family  man,  and  also  a  most  douce  and  home-loving 
citizen.  He  had  taken  a  cottage  near  the  shore  at  Aber- 
dour, where  he  could  have  his  bairns  under  his  eye  upon 
the  beach,  and  at  the  same  time  be  able  to  note  how  badly 
the  Fife  police  did  their  duty  in  the  matter  of  the  Sunday 
excursionists. 

But  for  all  that  he  ought  to  have  had  that  packet  of 
apples  better  tied  up,  for  he  had  bought  a  whole  shilling's- 
worth  on  his  way  down.  The  chief  was  rather  partial  to 
a  good  apple  himself ;  and,  in  any  case,  it  is  always  ad- 
visable to  be  on  the  safe  side  of  one's  wife,  even  if  you  are 
a  chief  of  police. 

Now  the  chief  reckoned  without  the  Knuckle  Dusters. 
These  valiant  youths  were  on  the  war-path,  and  as  he  was 
passing  a  point  where  the  houses  are  few,  along  by  the 
dock  gates,  Tam  Luke  came  alongside  and  pulled  the 
string  of  his  parcel  with  a  sharp  and  knowing  twitch. 


122  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

Instantly  it  came  undone,  and  the  apples  rolled  every  way 
upon  the  street.  Thereupon  every  Knuckle  Duster  seized 
as  many  as  he  could  reach,  and  the  Club  scattered  like 
hunted  hares  down  alleys  and  over  fences. 

For  a  moment  the  chief  stood  thunderstruck.  Then 
he  gave  chase,  selecting  Cleaver's  boy  for  his  prey.  But 
he  found  that  he  was  not  quite  so  supple  as  when  he  was 
a  young  constable  fresh  from  the  country.  And  besides, 
he  heard  the  warning  whistle  blow  from  the  "  Lord  Aber- 
dour."  He  pictured  his  bairns  on  the  quay  and  his  wife 
looking  out  for  him.  After  all,  was  it  worth  it  ?  So  he 
darted  into  a  shop  and  bought  chocolate  instead,  and  took 
his  anger  out  by  saying,  "  I'll  wager  I'll  make  it  warm  for 
these  young  vagabonds."  He  said  it  as  many  as  forty 
times  on  the  way  over.  He  never  minded  the  scenery  ono 
single  bit.  Among  the  Knuckle  Dusters  there  was  great 
jubilation.  That  night  they  told  the  whole  to  Celie  Ten- 
nant,  who  was  horrified  ;  but  she  could  only  advise  them 
to  "  restore  fourfold,"  an  unknown  idea  to  the  Club. 

It  was,  however,  a  proposition  ably  advocated  by  Cleg 
Kelly,  who,  owing  to  absence,  not  honesty,  had  taken  no 
part  in  the  larceny.  And,  strictly  as  a  humorous  con- 
ception, the  idea  of  fourfold  restitution  caught  on  won- 
derfully. 

This  is  why  a  very  dirty  paper  containing  two  shillings 
came  to  the  chief  of  the  Leith  police,  with  the  inscription 
thereon:  "for  to  buy  mair  aipples." 

Celie  wanted  them  to  send  four  shillings,  but  the 
Club  unanimously  declined,  because  the  grocer's  boy  said 
that  the  chief's  apples  were  only  second  quality. 

And  the  Club  had  every  confidence  in  the  grocer's  boy 
being  well-informed  on  the  point. 


'Our  roads  separate  here." 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  PENNY  GAFF.         123 
ADVEISTTUEE  XIX. 

THE   PILGKIMS   OF  THE   PENNY   GAFF. 

The  junior  partner  was,  as  he  expressed  it,  "  down  on 
his  luck."  He  was  heartily  sorry  for  himself,  and  indeed 
the  fault  was  not  all  his  own.  It  was  now  some  consider- 
able time  since  he  began  regularly  to  see  home  the  lady 
member  of  the  Knuckle  Dusters'  Club,  and  perhaps  he 
had  begun  to  some  extent  to  presume  upon  his  standing. 
He  had,  in  fact,  taken  it  upon  him  to  warn  her  as  to  the 
difficulties  of  her  position. 

"  It  is  not  right  for  a  young  lady  to  be  about  in  this 
district  at  night — no  girl  ought  to  do  it,  whatever  be  her 
motive." 

He  was  sometimes  a  very  short-sighted  junior  partner. 

Celie  Tennant  fired  up. 

"  And  pray,  Mr.  Iverach,  who  made  you  my  guardian  ? 
I  am  quite  of  age  to  judge  where  it  is  right  for  me  to  go, 
and  what  it  is  proper  for  me  to  do ! " 

The  junior  partner  assumed  a  lofty  attitude. 

"I  consider,"  he  began,  "that  it  is  highly  im- 
proper." 

But  this  was  as  far  as  he  got.  The  pose  judicial  was 
not  one  to  which  Miss  Cecilia  Tennant  was  accustomed, 
even  from  her  own  father.  She  dropped  her  companion 
a  very  pretty  courtesy. 

"  /  consider  that  our  roads  separate  here,"  she  said ; 
"  and  I  wish  you  a  very  good  evening,  Mr.  Iverach  ! " 

And  she  gave  the  junior  partner  a  look  at  once  so 
indignant  and  so  admirably  provocative,  that  he  turned 
away  righteously  incensed,  but  at  the  same  time  miscall- 
ing himself  for  more  kinds  of  idiot  than  his  father  had 


124  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

ever  called  him,  even  on  his  most  absent-minded  days  in 
the  office. 

Nevertheless  he  endeavoured,  by  a  dignified  manner  as 
he  walked  away,  to  express  his  wounded  feelings,  his  un- 
quenchable sense  of  injustice,  the  rectitude  of  his  aims 
and  intentions,  and  the  completeness  with  which  he 
washed  his  hands  of  all  consequences.  It  is  not  easy  to 
express  all  this  by  simply  taking  off  one's  hat,  especially 
when  you  have  a  well-grounded  belief  that  you  are  being 
laughed  at  privately  by  one  whom  you — well,  respect. 
And  saying  "  silly  girl "  over  and  over  does  not  help  the 
matter  either.  For  the  junior  partner  tried,  and  did  not 
improve  the  situation  so  much  as  the  value  of  a  last  even- 
ing's paper. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  was  a  sense  of  exhilaration 
about  Celie  Tennant's  heart  and  a  certain  lightness  in  her 
head,  when  she  had  thus  vindicated  her  independence. 
She  stopped  and  looked  into  the  window  of  a  shop  in 
which  nothing  was  displayed  but  a  large  model  of  a  coal- 
waggon,  loaded  with  something  "Jewels,"  and  bearing 
the  sympathetic  announcement  that  Waldie's  Best  House- 
hold Coal  was  down  this  week  one  penny  a  bag. 

It  is  a  curious  thing,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it, 
that  the  prettiest  girls  often  stop  opposite  dark  shop 
fronts  where  there  is  apparently  nothing  to  interest  them, 
and  pass  by  others  all  aglow  with  the  blanched  whiteness 
of  female  frilleries.  There  is  some  unexplained  optical 
problem  here.  The  matter  has  been  mentioned  to  Miss 
Tennant,  but  she  says  that  she  does  not  know  the  reason. 
She  adds  that  it  is  all  nonsense.  Perhaps,  after  Professor 
Tait  has  found  out  all  about  the  flight  of  the  golf -ball,  he 
will  give  some  attention  to  this  question.  He  can  obtain 
statistics  and  facts  on  any  well-frequented  street  by  keep- 
ing to  the  shady  side. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  PENNY  GAFF.         125 

So  Celie  stood  a  moment — only  a  moment,  and  was 
then  quite  ready  to  turn  away,  assured  in  mind  and  at 
peace  with  all  men — with  the  doubtful  exception  of  Mr. 
Donald  Iverach. 

Her  bonnet  was  indeed  "  straight  on."  But  she  gave 
her  foot  a  little  stamp  when  she  thought  of  the  junior 
partner. 

"  The  idea ! "  she  said. 

But  she  did  not  condescend  to  expound  the  concept 
which  troubled  her,  so  that  an  idea  it  has  ever  since  re- 
mained, and  indeed  must  be  left  as  such. 

Then  Celie  became  conscious  that  some  one  was  gazing 
at  her — not  a  woman,  of  course.  She  turned.  It  was 
only  Cleg  Kelly.  But  she  was  glad  to  see  even  him,  for, 
after  all,  one  does  need  some  support  even  in  well-doing. 
It  is  so  difficult  to  be  independent  all  by  one's  self. 

"  Where  are  you  going.  Cleg?"  she  said. 

"  To  the  penny  shows  aff  o'  the  Easter  Road,"  replied 
Cleg. 

"  Will  you  take  me,  Cleg  ?  "  said  Celie,  with  a  sudden 
clearing  of  her  face,  her  eyes  beginning  to  blaze  with  ex- 
citement. 

A  great  thought  took  possession  of  her.  This  ap- 
peared to  be  a  providential  chance  to  prove  all  that  she 
had  been  advancing  to  Mr.  Donald  Iverach,  who,  indeed, 
had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  matter. 

"Take  you,  Miss  Celie?"  stammered  Cleg  aghast. 
"  Ye  wadna  gang  to  the  shows  ?  " 

And  he  laughed  a  little  laugh  of  wonderment  at 
the  jest  of  his  goddess,  for  of  course  it  could  only  be 
a  joke. 

"  I  will  come  with  you,  Cleg,  if  you  will  take  me ! " 
said  Celie. 

"  But  ye  ken,  Miss  Celie,  it's  no  for  the  like  o'  you. 


126  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

It's  a'  weel  aneuch  for  boys  and  common  fowk,  but  no  for 
you ! " 

Thus  Cleg  urged  prudence,  even  against  the  wild  hope 
which  took  possession  of  him. 

"  Come  on,  Cleg ! "  said  Celie  Tennant,  rushing  into 
rebellion  at  the  thought  of  having  her  independence  called 
in  question,  even  by  one  of  the  Knuckle  Dusters. 

"  It's  all  Us  fault !  "  she  said  to  herself. 

Which  it  very  clearly  was — Cleg's,  of  course,  for  he 
ought  not  to  have  followed  her  home. 

Now  along  the  Easter  Eoad,  then  only  a  somewhat 
muddy  country  track,  there  was  a  small  quarry  which  is 
now  filled  up,  and  a  vacant  acre  or  two  of  land  where  the 
show-folk  took  up  their  stances,  and  waged  mimic  but  not 
bloodless  wars  in  the  mornings  for  the  best  positions. 

Great  sheets  of  canvas  were  stretched  above,  flaring 
cressets  were  being  lighted  below,  for  some  of  the  largest 
shows  were  dark  inside,  being  those  where  the  mysteries 
of  "  Pepper's  Ghost "  were  shortly  to  be  unveiled. 

Celie  Tennant  was  greatly  excited  by  the  prospect  of 
eating  of  the  tree  of  knowledge. 

"  Let  us  go  in  here,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  won- 
dr6us  "  Ghost  Illusion  "  bearing  the  name  and  style  of 
Biddle.  She  drew  out  her  purse  to  pa}^  but  Cleg  stopped 
her  with  his  hand.     He  had  grown  quite  dignified. 

"  Na,"  he  said,  "  ye  canna  do  that.  It's  my  treat  the 
nicht,  when  ye  are  walkin'  oot  wi'  me." 

Then  it  dawned  upon  Celie  that  she  was  assisting  at  a 
well-understood  function — no  less  than  the  solemn  treating 
of  a  lady  fair  upon  the  evening  of  a  pay-day.  The  thought 
nearly  overcame  her,  but  she  only  said,  "  Thank  you, 
Cleg,"  and  was  discreetly  silent. 

For  the  time  being  she  was  Cleg  Kelly's  "young 
woman." 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  PENNY  GAFF.         127 

They  went  in.  A  fat  woman,  with  large  silver  rings 
in  her  ears  of  the  size  of  crown  pieces,  took  Cleg's  money 
and  looked  with  great  sharpness  at  them  both.  Cleg  paid 
for  the  best  places  in  the  house.  They  cost  him  sixpence, 
and  were  carpeted — the  seats,  not  the  floor.  To  such 
heights  of  extravagance  does  woman  lead  man !  The  play 
was  already  proceeding  as  they  sat  down.  Presently,  after 
some  very  moral  observations  from  an  old  gentleman  in 
trouble  with  a  dying  child  (he  said  "  choild  "),  the  curtain 
dropped  and  the  roof  of  canvas  was  drawn  aside,  in  order 
to  let  in  the  struggling  daylight  and  save  the  flaring 
naphtha  cressets. 

Instantly  Celie  and  Cleg  became  the  sole  centre  of  at- 
traction— a  doubleted  courtier  in  tights,  with  an  unruly 
sword  which  scraped  the  curtain,  having  no  chance  what- 
ever by  comparison  with  their  grandeur.  Cleg  folded  his 
arms  with  a  proud  disdain  and  sat  up  with  a  back  as 
straight  as  an  arrow. 

"Glory  be — if  'tisn't  Cleg  Kelly  wid  the  Quane  of 
Shaeba ! "  said  a  compatriot  in  the  pit.  (The  house  was 
divided  into  pit  and  carpet.)  And  this  was  the  general 
opinion.  It  was  the  proudest  moment  of  Cleg's  existence 
— to  date,  as  he  himself  said. 

Celie  sat  all  the  while  demure  as  a  kitten  and  smoothed 
her  gloves.  Several  Knuckle  Dusters  passed  Cleg  the  pri- 
vate wink  of  the  society,  but  none  dared  intrude  on  that 
awful  dignity  of  responsibility.  Besides,  none  of  them 
were  "  on  the  carpet,"  and  Biddle  of  the  Silver  Eings 
possessed  a  quick  eye  and  a  long  arm. 

The  curtain  went  up.  This  time  it  was  a  haunted 
room.  A  haunted  clock  ticked  irregularly  in  the  corner, 
and  the  villian  sat  alone  in  his  quite  remarkable  villainy, 
on  a  solitary  chair  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  It  was 
very  dark,  owing  to  the  murky  cast  of  crime  all  round. 


128  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITF. 

Suddenly  the  gentleman  on  the  chair  shouted  out  the  de- 
tails of  his  "  croime  "  at  the  pitch  of  his  voice,  as  if  he 
had  been  the  town  crier.  He  told  how  much  he  regretted 
having  left  his  victim  weltering  in  his  gore,  whereupon 
the  aforesaid  victim  abruptly  appeared,  "  weltering,"  it  is 
true,  but  rather  in  a  white  sheet  with  the  lower  part  of 
which  his  legs  appeared  to  be  having  a  difficulty. 

The  villain  hastened  to  rise  to  the  occasion.  Once 
more  he  drew  his  sword,  with  which  he  had  been  making 
gallant  play  all  the  time.  Again  he  informed  the  next 
street  of  his  "  croime."  Then  he  pulled  a  pistol  out  of 
his  belt  and  solemnly  warned  the  spectre  what  would 
happen  if  he  did  not  clear  out  and  take  his  winding-sheet 
with  him. 

But  the  spectre  appeared  to  be  wholly  unimpressed, 
for  he  only  gibbered  more  incoherently  and  fluttered  the 
bed-quilt  (as  Cleg  called  it)  more  wildly.  The  villain  con- 
tinued to  exhort. 

"He's  an  awfu'  blatherumskite ! "  said  Cleg,  con- 
temptuously. He  knew  something  of  real  villains.  He 
had  a  father. 

Again  the  spectre  was  warned : 

"  Your  blood  be  upon  your  own  head ! "  shouted  the 
villain,  and  fired  the  pistol. 

The  ghost  remarked,  Br-r-r-r-r !  whoop! — went  up 
to  the  ceiling,  came  down  again  wrong  side  up,  and  then 
set  about  gibbering  in  a  manner  more  freezing  than  ever. 
Whereupon  the  villain  seized  his  crime-rusted  sword  in 
both  hands  and  puddled  about  in  the  spectre's  anatomy, 
as  if  it  had  been  a  pot,  and  he  was  afraid  it  would  boil 
over.  But  soon  he  satisfied  himself  that  this  was  not  the 
game  to  play  with  a  spirit  so  indifferent.  And  with  a 
wild  shriek  of  despair  he  cast  the  sword  from  him  on  the 
floor. 


ADONIS  BETWIXT  TWO  VENUSES.  129 

"  Ha,  baffled  !  foiled  !  "  he  remarked,  clasping  his  hand 
suddenly  to  his  brow :  "  col-ld  fire  is  useless  !  " 

This  was  summing  up  the  situation  with  a  vengeance, 
and  tickled  Celie  so  much  that  she  laughed  joyously — as 
the  audience  clapped  and  cheered  with  appreciation,  and 
Cleg  rose  to  come  out. 

"  What  comes  after  that  ?  "  said  Celie,  who  was  quite 
willing  to  stay  to  the  end. 

"  After  that  the  devil  got  him.  We  needna  wait  for 
that ! "  said  Cleg,  simply.  He  had  an  exceedingly  healthy 
and  orthodox  belief  in  the  ultimate  fate  of  ill- doers. 
But  he  did  not  choose  that  his  goddess  should  witness  the 
details. 


ADVENTUEE  XX. 

THE    DIFEICULTIES    OF    ADOI^IS    BETWIXT   TWO   VEKUSES. 

But  we  must  do  our  hero  justice.  After  the  spiriting 
away  of  Vara  Kavannah  and  the  children  from  the  burn- 
ing house  in  Callendar's  yard,  Cleg  did  not  submit  to 
their  loss  without  making  many  attempts  to  find  them. 
His  friend,  the  sergeant's  wife,  set  the  machinery  of  the 
police  in  motion.  But  nothing  could  be  heard  of  Maggie 
or  of  Hugh,  or  of  little  Gavin.  Cleg  went  the  round  of 
the  men  who  drive  the  rubbish-carts,  each  man  of  whom 
was  a  personal  and  particular  friend.  Xow  a  persevering 
ash-man  knows  a  lot — more  than  a  policeman,  having  a 
wider  beat,  and  not  so  much  encouragement  officially  to 
tell  what  he  knows.  But,  as  Cleg  could  tell  you,  an  ash- 
man's temper  needs  watching.  Like  the  articles  of  diet 
he  empties  out  of  the  baskets  into  his  great  sheet-iron  cov- 
ered carts,  it  is  apt  to  go  both  bad  and  high.    A  police- 


130  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

man  patrolling  his  beat  is,  according  to  his  personal  de- 
servings,  stayed  with  flagons,  comforted  with  apples. 
But  what  maid  in  all  the  areas  thinks  upon  the  poor 
dustman  ? 

Nevertheless,  Cleg  went  the  round  of  the  ash-cart  men, 
and  of  each  he  inquired  circumspectly  about  the  Kavan- 
nahs.  Not  one  had  seen  them  in  any  part  of  the  city. 
But,  indeed,  there  were  many  people,  even  women  and 
children,  awake  and  abroad  that  morning  of  the  great  fire 
in  Callendar's  woodyard.  Cleg  next  looked  up  the  morn- 
ing milkmen  who  converge  upon  the  city  from  every 
point,  summer  and  winter.  They  have  risen  to  the  milk- 
ing of  the  cows  during  the  small  hours  of  the  morning, 
and  thereafter  they  have  set  their  barrels  upon  a  light 
cart,  before  spinning  cityward  between  the  hedges.  The 
milkmen  can  tell  as  much  of  the  country  roads  as  the 
dustmen  of  the  city  streets.  But  to  none  had  the  vision 
of  three  pilgrim  children,  setting  forth  from  the  city  of 
persecution,  been  vouchsafed. 

So  Cleg  had  perforce  to  abide,  with  his  heart  unsatis- 
fied and  sore.  Perhaps,  so  he  thought,  one  day  hidden 
things  would  come  to  light,  and  the  shadows  which  had 
settled  upon  the  fate  of  the  Kavannahs  break  and  flee 
away. 

In  the  meantime  the  ancient  Society  of  the  Knuckle 
Dusters  flourished  exceedingly  in  its  new  incarnation  of 
"  The  Club."  The  deputation  which  approached  Mr. 
Donald  Iverach,  having  by  the  intervention  of  the  watch- 
man chosen  a  good  time  for  their  visit,  was  most  gracious- 
ly received.  The  watchman,  a  man  of  some  penetration, 
gave  Cleg  the  word  to  come  at  six  o'clock  on  a  day  when 
the  junior  partner  had  brought  his  tennis  shoes  to  the 
works. 

"You  want  to  use  the  old  store-room  every  night?" 


ADONIS  BETWIXT  TWO  VENUSES.  131 

said  Donald  Iverach,  looking  at  the  shamefaced  deputa- 
tion, every  man  of  whom  itched  to  draw  triangles  on  the 
floor  with  his  toe  and  yet  dared  not. 

'*  Except  Sundays,"  answered  Cleg,  who,  as  ever,  was 
ready  of  speech,  and  not  at  all  shamefaced. 

"What  does  Miss  Tennant  say?"  asked  the  junior 
partner,  who  wished  to  see  where  he  was  being  led.  He 
was  not  a  selfish  young  man,  but,  like  the  rest  of  us,  he 
wanted  to  be  sure  what  he  was  going  to  get  out  of  a  thing 
before  he  committed  himself. 

"  Miss  Tennant's  a  memb — "  began  Tam  Luke,  who 
had  no  discretion. 

Cleg  kicked  Tam  Luke  on  the  shin  severely.  Tam 
promptly  coughed,  choked,  and  was  led  out  by  unsympa- 
thetic friends,  who  expressed  their  opinion  of  him  outside 
with  pith  and  animation. 

"  Miss  Celie  wants  us  to  look  after  this  club  oorsels," 
said  Cleg.  "  We  are  the  commy-tee — except  Tam  Luke," 
he  added.  Tam  had  de  facto  forfeited  his  position  by  his 
interruption. 

The  commy-tee  hung  its  head,  and  looked  about  for 
possible  exits. 

"  And  who  is  responsible  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Donald  Iverach, 
smiling  a  little  and  shaking  his  head. 

"  Me  an'  Miss  Celie,"  answered  Cleg,  promptly. 

The  junior  partner  stopped  shaking  his  head,  but 
continued  to  smile. 

"  Come  away,  chaps,"  said  Cleg,  who  knew  when  the 
battle  was  won;  "guid  nicht  to  ye,  sir,  an'  thank  ye. 
Miss  Celie  wull  be  pleased  ! " 

Thereafter  the  Knuckle  Dusters'  Club  was  formally 
organised.  The  prominent  feature  in  the  management 
was  the  House  Committee.  Its  powers  were  unlimited, 
and  were  chiefly  directed  to  "  chucking  out."     This  was 


132  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

the  club's  sole  punishment.  Pines  would  certainly  not 
be  collected.  Privileges  were  so  few  that  it  was  not  easy 
to  discriminate  those  which  pertained  to  members  of  the 
club  in  good  standing.  But  the  members  of  the  House 
Committee  were  chosen  on  the  principle  that  any  two  of 
them,  being  "  in  charge,"  should  be  qualified  to  "  chuck  " 
the  rest  of  the  club — members  of  the  House  Committee 
itself  being  of  course  excepted.  It  was  a  singularly  able- 
bodied  committee,  and  willing  beyond  all  belief.  So  long 
as  it  held  together,  the  situation  was  saved.  Its  average 
measurement  round  the  forearm  was  eleven  inches. 

There  were  difficulties,  of  course.  And,  strange  as  it 
may  seem,  these  rose  chiefly  from  the  ravages  of  the  ten- 
der sentiment  of  love.  The  Knuckle  Dusters  had  laid  it 
down  as  a  fundamental  condition  that  no  girls  were  to  be 
permitted,  or  even  encouraged.  Miss  Celie  had  insisted 
upon  this.  Perhaps,  womanlike,  she  wished  to  reign 
alone,  and  could  brook  no  rivals  near  her  throne.  But  in 
practice  the  rule  was  found  difficult  of  enforcement.  For 
there  was  no  maidenly  backwardness  about  the  girls  of 
the  Sooth  Back.  It  was  indeed  a  rule  that  each  Keelie, 
beyond  the  condition  of  a  schoolboy,  should  possess 
himself  of  a  sweetheart — that  is,  so  soon  as  he  was  ca- 
pable of  "  doing  for  himself."  Sometimes  these  alliances 
resulted  in  singularly  early  marriage.  Oftener  they 
did  not. 

Cleg,  of  course,  was  much  too  young  for  "  nonsense  " 
of  this  kind,  as  he  described  it.  But  Cleaver's  boy,  and 
Tam  Luke,  and  indeed  most  of  the  Knuckle  Dusters,  be- 
ing "  in  places,"  were  from  the  first  equipped  with  a  com- 
plete working  outfit  of  sweethearts,  pipes,  and  navy  re- 
volvers. They  got  them  all  about  the  same  time,  not 
because  they  wanted  them,  but  because  it  was  the  fashion. 
Yet  I  do  them  no  more  than  justice  when  I  allow  that 


ADONIS  BETWIXT  TWO  VENUSES.  I33 

they  thought  most  highly  of  the  pipes.  They  treated 
their  pipes  with  every  consideration. 

It  is  true  that  each  Knuckle  Duster  spoke  of  his 
sweetheart  as  "  my  young  lady,"  but  this  was  only  between 
themselves.  To  the  "  young  ladies  "  themselves  their  words 
were  certainly  not  the  ordinary  and  hackneyed  terms  of  af- 
fection, such  as  generations  of  common  lovers  have  used. 

But  the  girls  were  not  to  be  daunted.  With  such 
cavalier  and  disdainful  knights,  ordinary  methods  were 
put  out  of  court.  It  was  clearly  necessary  that  someone 
should  do  the  wooing.  If  not  the  Knuckle  Dusters 
(haughty  knaves),  why,  then  the  "  young  lady "  herself. 
It  was  always  Leap  Year  in  the  Sooth  Back.  There  were 
but  two  unforgivable  crimes  in  the  bright  lexicon  of  love, 
as  it  was  consulted  in  the  lower  parts  of  the  Pleasance. 
On  the  side  of  the  Knuckle  Dusters  the  one  unpardon- 
able fault  was  "  going  with  a  swell."  On  the  part  of  the 
"young  ladies"  it  was  "taking  up  with  another  girl." 
Blows,  disdain,  contumely,  abuse,  all  fell  alike  harmless — 
mere  love-pats  of  the  gentle  god.  "  Another  "  is  the  only 
fatal  word  in  love. 

So,  then,  it  was  quite  in  keeping  with  the  nature  of 
things,  and  especially  with  the  nature  of  untrammelled 
youth,  that  the  Knuckle  Dusters'  Club  should  have  its 
amatorious  difficulties.  Part  of  each  evening  at  the  club 
was  now  devoted  to  the  sciences.  Arithmetic  and  writ- 
ing were  the  favourites.  There  was  also  talk  of  forming 
a  shorthand  class.  For  shorthand  has  a  mysterious  fas- 
cination for  the  uneducated.  It  is  universal  matter  of 
faith  among  them,  that  only  the  most  gifted  of  the  hu- 
man race  can  learn  to  write  shorthand.  This  is  strange 
enough,  for  both  observation  and  experience  teach  us  that 
the  difficulty  lies  in  reading  the  shorthand  after  it  is 
written. 


134  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

The  entrance  to  the  club-room  of  the  Knuckle  Dusters 
was  through  a  vaulted  "  pend,"  which,  having  no  magis- 
trate of  the  city  resident  within  it,  was  wholly  unlighted. 
It  was  no  uncommon  thing,  therefore,  for  the  solemn 
work  of  scientific  instruction  to  be  interrupted  by  the 
voice  of  the  siren  outside — a  siren  with  a  towse  of  hair 
done  up  loosely  in  a  net,  a  shawl  about  her  head,  and  elf 
locks  a-tangle  over  her  brow.  The  siren  did  not  sing. 
She  whistled  like  a  locomotive  engine  when  the  signals 
are  contrary  and  the  engine-driver  anxious  to  go  off  duty. 
At  first  the  Knuckle  Dusters  used  to  rise  and  quietly  de- 
part, when,  in  this  well-understood  fashion,  the  voice  of 
love  shrilly  breathed  up  the  store-room  stair.  But  after  a 
little,  Celie,  who,  from  an  entirely  superfluous  sense  of 
delicacy,  had  hitherto  suffered  in  silence,  felt  that  it  was 
time  to  remonstrate. 

It  was  Cleaver's  boy  who  caused  most  trouble.  Now 
this  was  by  no  means  the  fault  of  Cleaver's  boy,  who,  to 
do  him  justice,  was  far  more  interested  in  the  adventures  of 
"  Sixteen  String  Jack  "  or  "  Deadshot  Dick,  the  Cowboy 
of  Coon  County,"  than  in  a  dozen  Susies  or  Sallies.  But 
Cleaver's  boy  was  a  youth  of  inches.  Besides,  he  had  a 
curly  head  and  an  imperious  way  with  him,  which  took 
with  women — who,  gentle  and  simple,  like  to  be  slighted 
and  trodden  upon  when  the  right  man  takes  the  contract 
in  hand.  Cleaver's  boy  was,  in  fact,  just  Lord  Byron 
without  the  title  and  the  clubfoot.  Cleaver's  boy  had  also 
genius  like  the  poet.  Here  is  one  of  his  impromptus, 
written  after  a  music-hall  model : 

I  met  my  Sal  a-walkin'  out,  a-walkin'  on  the  street, 
I  says  to  Sal,  "Why  do  you  walk  upon  them  clumps  of  feet?" 
Says  Sal  to  me,  "  N'one  of  your  lip.    I've  got  another  chap  I  " 
tSo  I  hits  Sal  a  slap,  and  1  sends  her  hack 
To  her  ain  countrie. 


ADONIS  BETWIXT  TWO  VENUSES.  135 

Cleaver's  boy  could  do  any  amount  of  this  kind  of 
thing.  He  modelled  himself  upon  the  popular  broad- 
sheet of  the  day.  But  it  was  not  popular  in  the  Sooth 
Back.  The  article  in  demand  there  was  a  song  about  a 
little  child  who  softly  faded  away  after  bidding  farewell 
— a  long  farewell,  to  all  his  friends  so  dear — in  a  verse 
apiece.  Like  King  Charles,  this  boy  was  quite  an  un- 
conscionable time  a-dying.  But  he  did  not  know  it.  He 
was  a  popular  boy  in  the  Sooth  Back,  and  Tam  Luke 
warbled  about  him  till  the  assembled  Knuckle  Dusters 
snivelled  secretly,  and  looked  hard  down  between  their 
knees  so  as  to  pretend  they  were  spitting  on  the  floor. 
But  Cleaver's  boy,  who  in  early  youth  had  come  from 
Blackburn  with  his  father,  the  slaughterman,  said  it  was 
"  Bully-rot !  "  He  swore  that  he  could  make  a  song  about 
Sal  Mackay  that  would  be  worth  a  shopf  ul  of  such  "  tripe." 
The  verse  quoted  above  is  part  of  the  song  he  made. 
Cleaver's  boy  has  repeated  the  whole  poem  to  me  more 
than  once,  but  the  above  is  all  that  I  can  bring  myself  to 
print.  For  Sal  Mackay  has  able-bodied  relatives,  and,  be- 
sides, there  is  a  law  of  libel  in  this  country,  which  is  pro- 
vided for  in  my  agreement  with  my  publishers. 

Sal  Mackay  and  Susy  Murphy  were  rivals  in  the  affec- 
tions of  the  handsome  "boy"  of  Cleaver  the  butcher. 
But  for  long  the  swain  was  coy  and  gave  no  final  evidence 
of  preference.  So  that  day  by  day  in  the  factory  where 
they  worked  side  by  side,  neither  could  exult  over  the 
other. 

"  Ye  needna  think  he  cares  a  buckie  for  you,  ye  tow- 
headed,  crawlin'  ferlie  ! "  said  Sue,  who  was  of  the  dark 
allure,  to  Sal  who  was  fair. 

"  He  wadna  look  the  road  ye  are  on,  ye  ill-grown,  can- 
kered-faced,  jaundice  hospital ! "  was  the  retort  elegant 
of  Sal  Mackay. 


136  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

So  it  happened  nightly  that  when  Celie  Tennant  was 
at  the  most  impressive  portions  of  the  Scripture  lesson,  or 
engaged  in  elucidating  the  mysteries  of  compound  division 
(and  pardonably  getting  a  little  tangled  among  the  far- 
things), that  there  would  come  a  long  whistle  at  the  door, 
and  then  a  smart  rapping  at  the  window.  Another  blast 
like  a  steamer  signal  was  blown  before  the  dark  tower,  the 
Knuckle  Dusters  would  throw  their  heads  back  to  laugh, 
and  then  look  at  Cleaver's  boy.  He  would  stand  it  a  little 
while,  and  then,  to  escape  from  their  meaning  looks,  he 
would  throw  down  his  slate  and  books  and  go  quietly  out 
at  the  door. 

At  last  Celie  plucked  up  courage  to  speak  to  him. 

"  It  is  not  so  much  that  I  mind,"  said  Celie,  for  she 
had  been  learning  many  things  since  she  came  down  to 
the  Sooth  Back,  things  that  she  did  not  mention  when 
she  went  home  to  Aurelia  Villa,  or  even  repeat  to  the 
Junior  Partner. 

"It  is  not  that  I  mind  so  much  myself,"  she  said, 
"  but  it  is  a  very  bad  example  for  Cleg  and  the  younger 
boys." 

"  I  ken,  I  ken,  but  faith,  I  canna  help  it.  Miss  Celie," 
said  Cleaver's  boy,  in  desperation.  "  As  sure  as  daith,  it 
is  no  my  faut.  Thae  twa  lasses  will  juist  no  let  me  alane. 
I  canna  gang  alang  the  street  for  them." 

And  Celie,  blushing  for  her  sex,  believed  him  and  con- 
doled. For,  next  to  Cleg,  she  had  a  weakness  for  Cleaver's 
boy.     He  was  so  good-looking. 

"  Wait  till  they  come  the  nicht !  "  said  Cleaver's  boy, 
darkly. 

It  was  the  hour  of  the  vesper  writing  lesson.  Cleaver's 
boy  was  seated  at  the  long  desk  which  Mr.  Donald  Iverach 
had  found,  as  he  said,  "about  the  premises" — but  for 
which  he  had,  curiously  enough,  previously  paid  out  of 


ADONIS  BETWIXT  TWO  VENUSES.  I37 

his  own  pocket.  Cleaver's  boy  had  his  head  close  down 
to  the  paper.  His  elbows  were  spread-eagled  over  the 
table.  His  shoulders  were  squared  with  determination, 
and  his  whole  pose  gave  token  of  the  most  complete  ab- 
sorption and  studious  intentness.  He  was  writing  the 
line,  "  Kindness  to  dumb  animals  is  a  sign  of  nobility  of 
character."  As  his  pen  traced  the  curves,  his  tongue  was 
elaborating  the  capitals,  so  exactly  that  you  could  almost 
tell  by  watching  the  tip  whether  Cleaver's  boy  was  writing 
a  K  or  an  X.  This  kind  of  expressive  caligraphy  has  not 
been  sufficiently  studied.  But  Cleaver's  boy  was  undoubt- 
edly a  master  of  it. 

There  came  angry  voices  at  the  door. 

"  What  are  you  doin'  here  ?  I  tell  ye  he's  my  chap ! " 
said  a  voice  sharp  and  shrill. 

"  It's  a  black  lee.  I  tell  ye  he's  naething  0'  the  kind  ! " 
said  another,  yet  louder  and  rougher. 

Sue  Murphy  and  Sal  Mackay  were  at  it  again.  So 
said  the  Society  of  the  Knuckle  Dusters  as  it  winked  am- 
icably and  collectively  to  itself.  Celie  Tennant  was  just 
looking  over  the  copybook  of  Cleaver's  boy.  As  she  stood 
behind  him,  she  could  see  the  scarlet  swiftly  rising  to  his 
neck  and  brow.  Adonis  was  becoming  distinctly  an- 
noyed.    It  was  going  to  be  a  rough  night  for  Yenuses. 

"I  tell  ye  it  was  only  on  Saturday  nicht  that  he 
knocked  my  bonnet  off  my  head  an'  kickit  it  alang  the 
street — an'  ye  will  hae  the  impidence  to  say  after  that 
that  he  is  your  lad ! " 

It  was  the  voice  of  Sue  Murphy  which  made  this  proud 
declaration. 

"  That  nocht  ava',  ye  Irish  besom,"  retorted  Sal  Mac- 
kay ;  "  yestreen  nae  farther  gane,  he  pu'ed  a  handf u'  o' 
the  hair  oot  o'  my  held.     Aye,  and  rubbit  my  face  wi'  a 
clabber  0'  glaur,  f orbye ! " 
10 


138  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

It  was  the  last  straw.  Cleaver's  boy  rose  to  his  feet 
with  a  look  of  stern  and  righteous  determination  on  his 
face.  The  assembled  Knuckle  Dusters  watched  him 
eagerly.  Celie  stood  aghast,  fearing  that  murder  might 
be  done,  in  the  obvious  endeavour  Cleaver's  boy  was  now 
about  to  make,  to  excel  all  his  previous  records  in  the  art 
of  love-making,  as  practised  in  the  Sooth  Back  and  the 
Tinklers'  Lands. 

He  walked  slowly  to  the  corner  of  the  store  room, 
where  on  a  little  bench  stood  two  very  large  water  cans  of 
tin,  painted  a  dark  blue.  They  were  the  property  of  the 
club  and  contained  the  drinking  water  for  the  evening. 
They  had  just  been  filled. 

Cleaver's  boy  took  one  in  his  hand  and  opened  the 
door.  Then  he  swung  the  heavy  can,  and  tilting  it  up 
with  the  other  hand,  he  arched  the  contents  solidly  and 
impartially  upon  the  waiting  Juliets.  Keturning,  he 
seized  the  other,  and  from  the  shrieking  down  the 
passage  it  was  obvious  to  Celie,  that  he  had  been 
equally  successful  in  cooling  the  ardour  of  the  rivals 
with  that. 

Cleaver's  boy  came  back  with  the  empty  cans  in  his 
hand,  panting  a  little  as  with  honest  toil,  but  there  was  no 
shamefacedness  in  his  eyes  now.  He  looked  straight  at 
Celie  like  a  man  who  has  done  his  full  duty,  and  perhaps 
a  little  over. 

"  I  pit  it  to  yoursel'.  Miss  Celie,  can  a  man  do  mair 
than  that?" 

And  with  no  further  word.  Cleaver's  boy  dusted  the 
drops  from  the  knees  of  his  breeches,  and  sat  down  to 
write  six  more  lines  of  "  Kindness  to  dumb  animals  is  a 
sign  of  nobility  of  character." 

But  next  night  he  came  to  Celie  in  the  blackness  of 
despair. 


AN  IDYLL  OF  BOGIE  ROLL.  139 

"  I  will  hae  to  resign,  after  all,  Miss  Celie,"  he  said,  "  I 
canna  bide  here  to  be  a  disgrace  to  ye  a'." 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter,  James  ?  "  said  Miss  Tennant, 
who  did  not  yet  know  everything ;  "  are  the  girls  going 
to  prosecute  you  in  the  police  court  for  throwing  the 
water  over  them  last  night  ?  " 

Cleaver's  boy  opened  his  mouth  in  astonishment  and 
kept  it  so  for  some  time. 

"  Prosecute  me  ? — I  wish  to  peace  they  wad ! "  cried  he, 
after  he  got  his  breath.  "  ^NTa,  faith.  Miss  Celie ;  will  ye 
believe  me,  they  are  fonder  o'  me  than  ever.  They  were 
baith  waitin'  for  me  at  the  stairfit  this  mornin'  when  I 
cam  doon  to  gang  to  the  shop." 

And  Miss  Celie  again  believed  him. 


ADVENTUEE  XXI. 

A2S"   IDYLL   OF   BOGIE   KOLL. 

Perhaps  it  was  in  sheer  desperation  that  Cleaver's 
boy  (whose  name,  by  the  way,  was  James  Annan,  though 
the  fact  was  hardly  ever  mentioned  except  in  the  police 
court)  at  last  resolved  to  make  a  desperate  cast. 

"  They  canna  baith  hae  me,"  he  said,  "  an'  Guid  kens 
I  want  neither  0'  them.  But  gin  I  had  yin  o'  them,  she 
wad  maybe  keep  the  ither  off." 

So  Cleaver's  boy  scratched  his  head  to  find  out  a  way 
of  settling  the  difficulty.  He  could,  he  thought,  be  in- 
differently happy  with  either.  It  was  only  having  both 
of  them  "  tearing  at  his  coat-tails  "  that  made  him  mis- 
erable. 

At  last  he  dashed  his  hand  against  his  thigh  with  a 


140  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

cry  of  joy,  and  fell  to  dancing  a  hobnailed  fandango  in 
the  gutter. 

"  Dod,  man,  the  verra  thing,"  he  said ;  "  I'll  toss  for 
them ! " 

So  with  that  Cleaver's  boy  took  out  his  lucky  penny, 
and,  selecting  a  smooth  space  of  the  unpaved  roadway  of 
a  new  street,  where  the  coin  would  neither  stick  edgeways 
nor  yet  bounce  unfairly  on  the  stones,  he  spun  the  coin 
deftly  upwards  from  his  level  thumb-nail. 

"  Heads  Sail — tails  Susy ! "  he  said,  very  solemnly,  for 
his  life  was  in  the  twirl  of  the  penny. 

"  Heads  she  is — Sal  has  got  me !  "  exclaimed  the  ar- 
dent lover. 

They  were  engaged  that  night.  The  next  day  they 
were  photographed  together — Sal  with  a  very  large  hat, 
a  great  deal  of  hair,  and  a  still  larger  amount  of  feather ; 
Cleaver's  boy  with  a  very  small  hat,  an  immense  check 
suit,  and  a  pipe  stuck  at  a  knowing  angle  with  the  bowl 
turned  down.  That  same  night  Sal  had  still  a  lover,  in- 
deed, but  the  glory  of  her  betrothal  attire  was  no  more. 
Her  hat  was  a  mere  trampled  ruin.  Her  fringe  was 
patchy.  She  had  a  black  eye ;  and  all  that  remained  of 
Susy  Murphy  was  in  the  lock-up  for  assault  and  battery. 
Without  doubt  it  was  a  stirring  time  for  James  Annan, 
and  it  is  to  be  feared  that  Mr.  Cleaver  and  his  customers 
did  not  get  quite  their  fair  share  of  his  attention  while 
it  lasted. 

Susy  Murphy  got  off  under  the  First  Offenders  Act. 
But  immediately  upon  re-encountering  her  successful  rival 
she  incontinently  became  a  second  offender,  and  was  as 
summarily  fined  thirty  shillings  or  seven  days.  And  it 
added  to  the  bitterness  of  Cleaver's  boy,  that  he  had  to 
come  good  for  both  the  hat  ruined  in  the  first  battle  and 
the  dress  torn  to  shreds  in  the  second. 


AN  IDYLL  OF  BOGIE  ROLL.  141 

Then  it  also  became  his  duty  to  take  out  Miss  Mackay 
every  evening,  and  so  frequent  were  the  demands  upon 
his  purse,  that  Cleaver's  boy  perceived  that  nothing  but 
marriage  stood  between  him  and  financial  ruin. 

"  If  I  was  only  marriet,"  he  soliloquised,  "  I  could 
stop  the  lemonades  and  ice-creams.  They're  juist  terrible 
expensive.  I  declare  Sal  thinks  naething  o'  a  dozen 
bottles.  And  gin  ye  stickit  a  preen  until  her  ony  gate,  I 
declare  she  wad  fizz." 

It  occurred  to  him,  however,  that  as  a  temporary  al- 
ternative it  might  be  possible  to  increase  his  earnings. 
And  Cleaver's  boy  was  not  above  asking  for  what  he 
wanted. 

"  Guid  jobs  wants  finding  nooadays ! "  was  a  favourite 
expression  of  his. 

Now  there  was  a  certain  Bailie  Holden  among  the  cus- 
tomers of  Mr.  Cleaver.  This  dignitary  had  succeeded  to 
the  responsible  position  of  Convener  of  the  Cleaning  and 
Lighting  department — a  division  of  the  city's  municipal 
business  which  has  always  been  associated  with  excellent 
eating  and  drinking,  and  a  good  deal  of  both. 

Bailie  Holden  had  the  finest  taste  in  the  light  wines 
of  his  country  of  any  man  on  the  council.  In  his  happier 
moments  of  inspiration  he  could  tell  the  age  of  Long  John 
to  within  a  year.  ]^ow  Bailie  Holden  had,  among  other 
excellent  domestic  properties,  a  kitchen-maid  who  was 
not  above  casting  soft  eyes  at  spruce  James  Annan 
of  Cleaver's,  so  dehonnaire^  with  his  blue  apron  and  his 
basket  over  his  arm.  And  James  had  cultivated  the  ac- 
quaintance according  to  his  opportunity,  without,  of 
course,  thinking  it  necessary  to  say  anything  to  Sal 
Mackay — or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  to  Sue  Murphy  either. 
So  that,  in  the  course  of  conversation  at  the  area  door,  it 
fell  out  that  Cleaver's  boy  mentioned  his  desire  to  be  no 


142  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

more  Cleaver's  boy,  but  a  servant  of  the  city  corporation 
in  the  department  of  Cleaning  and  Lighting.  And  the 
kitchen-maid  answered,  keeping  her  eyes  on  James  and 
adjusting  her  tumbled  cap  at  the  same  time — 

"  I'll  speak  to  the  maister  when  he  comes  through  the 
back  kitchen,  to  smoke  his  pipe  in  the  yaird  after  dinner- 
time." 

For  it  was  the  use  and  wont  of  Bailie  Holden,  when  he 
was  without  company,  or  could  shunt  the  entertainment 
of  it  upon  his  wife,  to  put  on  a  seedy  garden  coat  and  slip 
off  quietly  round  by  the  greenhouses.  Here  he  took  from 
the  edge  of  a  heating  tube  a  short  clay  pipe  of  excessive 
blackness ;  then  from  a  canister  he  extracted  a  snaky  twist 
of  Bogie  roll.  Bailie  Holden  was  renowned  for  keeping 
the  best  cigars  in  the  city,  and  he  also  smoked  them 
regularly  indoors.  His  wife,  indeed,  did  not  allow  any- 
thing else.  But  he  came  outside  for  his  real  smoke,  in 
his  shirt-sleeves  in  the  warm  evenings,  and  in  his  garden 
coat  when  it  was  colder.  For  though  to  all  men  he  was 
now  Havanna  of  the  most  exclusive  brand,  and  all  his  ap- 
pointments like  unto  that  dignity,  yet  at  the  heart  of  him 
he  was  still  kindly  Bogie  roll. 

The  Bailie  thought  on  many  things  out  there  in  the 
dark  as  he  nuzzled  down  the  glowing  ash  in  the  pipe- 
bowl  close  under  his  nose.  He  thought,  for  instance,  of 
the  year  Elizabeth  and  he  were  married,  when  they  started 
at  the  foot  of  Morrison  Street  in  one  room  at  the  back  of 
the  gasfitter's  shop.  They  did  not  keep  a  servant  then, 
and  Elizabeth  had  not  yet  learned  to  object  to  the  smok- 
ing of  Bogie  roll.  Indeed,  her  father  and  her  three 
brothers  (all  honest  masons)  incessantly  smoked  nothing 
else.  But  when  there  was  need  to  find  a  place  in  the 
little  back-room  for  another  person  with  no  experience  in 
Bogie  roll  where  he  came  from,  then  the  Bailie  had  gone 


THE  SEDUCTION  OF  A  BAILIE.  I43 

out  every  night  to  the  backyard,  sat  down  on  a  roll  of 
lead  piping  and  smoked  a  black  pipe,  with  a  babe's  little 
complainings  tugging  at  his  heart  all  the  while.  And  the 
memory  of  the  Bogie  roll  outside  the  window,  across  which 
the  black  shadows  went  and  came,  had  somehow  kept  his 
heart  warm  all  through  the  years. 

And,  strange  it  is  to  say  it,  but  though  he  was  in 
many  ways  a  difficult  man  to  serve,  yet  many  a  servant 
had  remained  another  term,  simply  because  the  master 
slipped  out  to  take  his  smoke  away  from  every  one  in  the 
evening.  This  is  the  whole  idyll  of  the  life  of  Bailie 
Holden,  Convener  of  the  Committee  on  Cleaning  and 
Lighting  and  proximate  Lord  Provost  of  the  city.  It  is 
curious  that  it  should  be  an  idyll  of  Bogie  roll. 


ADVENTURE  XXIL 

THE   SEDUCTIOi^   OF   A   BAILIE. 

So  it  was  at  this  most  favourable  of  times  that  Cleaver's 
boy's  kitchen-maid  approached  her  master  with  her  re- 
quest. It  was  just  at  the  critical  moment  when  the 
Bailie  was  laying  aside  the  Convener  and  host,  and  don- 
ning the  Morrison  Street  plumber,  with  the  garden  coat 
which  carried  so  strong  an  atmosphere  of  the  idyllic  Bogie 
roll. 

"  If  ye  please,  sir,  there's  a  young  man ,"  the  voice 

of  the  kitchen-maid  broke  upon  his  dreams. 

"  Ah,  Janet,"  said  the  Convener,  getting  helped  into 
the  garden  coat,  for  he  was  not  now  so  slim  as  once  he 
had  been,  "  there  always  is  a  young  man !  And  that's 
how  the  world  goes  on ! " 


144  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  But,"  said  Janet,  the  kitchen-maid,  "  this  is  a  very 
nice  young  man.  You  may  have  seen  him,  sir.  He 
comes  here  twice  every  day  from  Mr.  Cleaver's,  the 
butcher's,  sir." 

"  No,  Janet,"  replied  the  Bailie,  amicably,  "  I  do  not 
know  that  I  have  observed  him.  You  see,  my  duties  do 
not  compel  me  to  be  cleaning  the  kitchen  steps  when  nice 
young  men  come  from  Cleaver's  ! " 

"  Sir,"  said  Janet,  with  a  little  privileged  indignation, 
"  James  Annan,  sir,  is  a  most  respectable  young  man." 

"  And  he  asked  you  to  speak  to  me  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  sir !  Indeed,  no,  sir !  But  I  thought,  sir, 
that  in  your  department  you  might  have  need  of  a  steady 
young  man." 

"  I  have,  indeed,  Janet.  You  are  as  right  as  ever  you 
will  be  in  your  life,"  said  the  Convener  of  Cleaning  and 
Lighting,  thinking  of  the  ravages  which  the  traditional 
hospitality  of  the  department  sometimes  made  among  his 
steadiest  young  men. 

"  What  are  his  desires,  Janet  ?  "  said  the  Bailie ;  "  does 
he  want  a  chief  inspectorship,  or  will  he  be  content  to 
handle  a  broom  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  an  inspectorship — at  first,  sir.  And  he  can 
handle  anything,  indeed,  sir,"  said  Janet,  breathlessly,  for 
the  Convener  had  endued  himself  with  his  coat  and  showed 
signs  of  moving  gardenwards. 

"  Including  your  chin,  my  dear,"  said  the  Bailie,  touch- 
ing (it  is  very  regrettable  to  have  to  state)  one  of  Janet's 
plump  dimples  with  the  action  which  used  fifty  years  ago 
to  go  by  the  name  of  "  chucking."  He  had  dined,  his 
wife  was  safely  up  stairs  out  of  harm's  way,  and  Bogie 
roll  glowed  cloudily  before  him.  Let  these  be  his  ex- 
cuses. 

"  James  Annan,  nor  no  one  else,  has  more  to  do  with 


THE  SEDUCTION  OF  A  BAILIE.  145 

my  chin  than  I  like  to  let  them,  sir,"  said  Janet,  who 
came  from  Inverness,  and  had  a  very  clear  idea  of  busi- 
ness. 

The  Bailie  laughed  and  went  out. 

"  I  will  bear  it  in  mind,  Janet,"  said  he,  for  he  felt 
that  he  was  wasting  time.  He  did  not  mean  Janet's  dim- 
pled chin. 

"  Better  put  it  down  in  your  notebook — I'll  fetch  it, 
sir !  "  And  Janet  promptly  fetched  a  black  leather  case, 
round-shouldered  with  importance  and  bulgy  with  busi- 
ness. 

So  the  Bailie  stood  in  the  half-light  which  came  from 
the  kitchen  window,  and  wetted  the  stub  of  a  lead-pencil, 
which  Janet  had  carried  for  years  in  the  pocket  of  her 
working-dresses  without  ever  needing  it.  He  hesitated 
what  to  write. 

"  The  young  man's  name,  sir,  is  James  Annan,  and 
you  can  send  the  letter  in  care  of  me,  sir,"  said  Janet, 
with  a  subtle  suggestiveness.  She  tiptoed  round  till  she 
touched  his  sleeve,  so  as  to  look  over  at  what  he  was 
writing. 

"Thank  you,  Janet;  anything  else?"  asked  the 
Bailie. 

"  Ko,  sir,"  said  Janet,  hesitating  with  her  finger  at 
her  lip,  "  unless,  sir,  you  could  think  to  put  him  on  this 
district" 

So  it  happened  that  in  due  time  Mr.  Cleaver  lost  the 
services  of  Cleaver's  boy.  These  valuable  assets  were 
simultaneously  gained  by  the  city  corporation  in  the 
department  of  Cleaning  and  Lighting.  This  has  been 
the  immemorial  method  in  which  subordinate  positions 
have  been  filled,  according  to  the  best  traditions  of  the 
municipal  service.  The  great  thing  is,  of  course,  to  catch 
your  convener,  as  it  were,  between  dinner  and  Bogie  roll. 


146  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

James  Annan  was  placed  on  the  southern  district,  and 
his  duty  was  to  mark  in  a  notebook,  less  important  but 
a  good  deal  cleaner  than  the  Bailie's,  the  names  of  the 
streets  which  were  attended  to  in  their  order,  and  also  the 
exact  moment  when  each  final  ash-backet  was  heaped 
upon  the  cart. 

What  precise  benefit  trim  Janet  of  Inverness  got  from 
the  arrangement  is  not  clear.  For,  being  occupied  during 
the  night,  Cleaver's  boy  could  no  more  come  for  the  or- 
ders early  in  the  morning,  nor  yet  trot  whistling  down  the 
area  steps  an  hour  later  with  the  laden  basket  upon  his 
arm.  So  that  Janet,  supposing  the  matter  interested  her 
at'  all,  seemed  definitely  to  be  the  loser. 

Yet  one  never  knows.  For  the  ways  of  girls  from  In- 
verness are  deep  as  the  sea  is  deep  in  the  unplumbed 
places  in  the  middle,  which  are  painted  the  deepest  in- 
digo on  the  atlases.  James  Annan  continued  to  be  called 
Cleaver's  boy,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  a  successor  at  six 
shillings  a  week  had  been  appointed,  who  now  wore 
Cleaver's  boy's  discarded  blue  aprons.  In  other  ways  he 
would  have  been  glad  to  succeed  to  the  perquisites  of 
Cleaver's  boy.  But  he  was  a  sallow-faced  youth  with 
straight  hair,  who  used  his  tobacco  without  the  aid  of  a 
pipe.  So  Janet  did  not  deign  to  bandy  a  single  word 
with  the  new  boy.  He  was  no  more  than  a  penny-in-the- 
slot  machine,  wound  up  to  deliver  so  many  pounds  of 
steak  every  day.  The  kitchen  steps  were  now  always 
cleaned  in  the  early  dawn,  and  Janet  went  about  in  her 
old  wrapper  all  the  morning  and  most  of  the  afternoon. 

She  had  taken  a  saving  turn,  she  said,  as  if  it  had 
been  the  measles.  It  was  all  very  well  for  the  table-maid 
always  to  wear  a  black  frock. 

But  though  she  saw  less  of  Cleaver's  boy  (the  original 
and  only  genuine  article),  it  is  possible,  and  indeed  likely. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OP  A  NIGHT-SHIFT  MAN.    147 

that  Janet  of  Inverness  knew  more  of  the  romance  of  Susy 
and  Sal  than  Cleaver's  boy  gave  her  credit  for.  Let  those 
who  try  to  run  three  or  four  love  affairs  abreast,  like  horses 
in  a  circus  ring,  take  warning.  Janet  of  Inverness  had 
never  heard  of  either  Sal  or  Susy  from  the  lips  of  Cleaver's 
boy.  Nevertheless,  there  was  not  much  of  importance  to 
her  schemes  which  was  not  familiar  to  the  wise  little  head 
set  upon  the  plumply  demure  shoulders  of  Janet  of  In- 
verness. 


ADVENTURE   XXIII. 

THE  AMOROUS   ADVENTURES   OF  A   NIGHT-SHIFT  MAN. 

An  interview  which  Cleaver's  boy  had  to  endure  may 
throw  some  light  upon  this.  By  some  strange  law  of  con- 
trary, the  undisputed  possession  of  James  Annan's  affec- 
tions damped  Sal's  ardour.  She  became  flighty  and 
difficult  in  her  moods.  Cleaver's  boy  could  not  take  her 
to  enough  places  of  resort,  or  at  least,  not  to  the  right 
ones.  So  long  as  he  slighted  her  and  rubbed  her  face 
with  snow  as  a  regular  method  of  courtship,  she  could  not 
love  him  enough.  But  now,  when  she  was  formally  en- 
gaged to  him  and  the  alliance  had  been  acknowledged  by 
Providence  and  Miss  Cecilia  Tennant,  Sal  suddenly  found 
that  she  did  not  care  so  much  about  Cleaver's  boy  after 
all.  This  happened  in  the  second  week  of  the  new  situa- 
tion in  the  department  of  Cleaning  and  Lighting. 

Sal  came  home  from  the  mill  at  six.  James  went  on 
duty  at  eight.  Consequently  it  was  now  usually  about 
seven  when  James  called.  It  was  an  unhappy  and  ill- 
chosen  time,  as  anybody  but  a  man  would  have  known. 
For  Sal  appeared  to  be  in  some  undress,  and  was  indeed 


148  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

engaged  in  frizzling  her  front  hair  with  a  pair  of  hot 
knitting  needles,  occasionally  burning  her  fingers  and  her 
forehead  in  the  process. 

"  Hoo  are  ye  the  nicht,  Sal  ?  "  said  James,  standing  at 
the  cheek  of  the  door  and  crossing  his  legs  comfortably. 
Someone  (he  forgot  who)  had  told  him  he  looked  well 
that  way. 

"  ISTaething  the  better  for  seein'  you  ! "  retorted  Sal 
over  her  shoulder.  She  never  took  her  eyes  off  the  frag- 
ment of  mirror  which  was  secured  to  the  wall  by  two 
long  nails  and  the  broken  end  of  another  knitting 
needle. 

"  Wy  Sal,  what's  wrang  wi'  ye?"  began  Cleaver's  boy, 
anxiously.  For  though  in  the  affairs  of  men,  as  between 
boy  and  boy,  his  voice  was  most  for  open  war,  yet  in  the 
things  of  love  he  liked  peace  and  sacrificed  much  to  se- 
cure it. 

Sal  humped  up  the  shoulder  next  him  and  turned 
sharply  away  from  him  with  a  gesture  indicative  of  the 
greatest  disdain — without,  however,  taking  her  eyes  from 
the  faint  blue  smoke  which  went  up  from  the  left  side  of 
her  fringe,  to  which  she  had  at  that  moment  applied  a 
fresh  pair  of  red-hot  knitting  needles. 

"  Tell  me  what's  the  maitter  wi'  ye,  Sal,"  said  James 
humbly.  For  the  spirit  seemed  to  have  departed  out  of 
him. 

Sal  tossed  her  head  and  made  a  sound  which,  though 
inarticulate,  indicated  that  much  might  be  said  upon  that 
subject.     She  could  an  she  would. 

Slowly  Cleaver's  boy  extracted  from  his  pocket  a  neat 
parcel  done  up  in  paper. 

"  Hae,  Sal ! "  he  said,  going  forward  to  her  elbow  and 
offering  them  to  her;  "hae,  here  are  some  sweeties  I 
fetched  ye." 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NIGHT-SHIFT  MAN.    I49 

They  were  her  favourite  brandy-balls,  and  on  a  suitable 
day,  with  a  light  wind  and  strong  sun,  their  perfume  car- 
ried a  quarter  of  a  mile.  James  had  never  known  them 
fail  of  their  effect  before.  But  now,  with  a  swift  half- 
turn,  Sal  snatched  them  out  of  his  hand  and  flung  them 
behind  the  fire.  Cleaver's  boy  stood  aghast.  They  had 
cost  him  fourpence-halfpenny  at  Tam  Luke's  shop,  and 
would  have  cost  twice  as  much  but  for  Tam's  good  offices 
in  the  weighing  department. 

"  What's  wrang  wi'  the  brandy-balls,  Sal  ?  "  he  cried 
in  despair.  The  like  of  this  had  never  happened  before 
in  his  experience.     Thus  Time  works  out  its  revenges. 

"Did  ye  get  them  oot  0'  an  ash- backet?"*  at  last 
cried  Sal,  breaking  her  indignant  silence. 

"No,"  said  innocent  James,  "I  got  them  at  Tam 
Luke's  for  fourpence-halfpenny." 

"  So  ye  say ! "  returned  Sal,  who  was  determined  not 
to  be  appeased. 

The  brandy-balls  were  now  flaming  up  the  chimney, 
and  fast  dissolving  into  their  elements  with  a  sickly  smell 
and  a  fizzling  noise. 

"  Tell  us  what  ye  hae  against  us,  Sal ;  oot  wi'  it ! " 
said  Cleaver's  boy,  who  recognised  the  great  truth  that 
with  a  woman  it  is  always  better  to  be  at  the  bottom  of 
what  she  knows,  and  that  at  once. 

"I'm  no  gaun  to  keep  company  wi'  ony  man  that 
gangs  on  the  nicht  shift!"  cried  Sal,  turning  with  the 
needles  in  her  hand  and  stamping  her  foot.  "  I'll  let  ye 
ken  that  Sal  Mackay  thinks  mair  o'  hersel'  than  that.  I 
hae  some  pride ! " 

The  murder  was  out.     But  poor  James,  who  thought 

*  The  local  technical  terra.  It  seems  to  have  resulted  from  an 
attempt  to  say  "bucket "  and  "  basket "  at  the  same  time. 


150  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

that  he  had  done  a  fine  thing  in  attaining  promotion, 
knew  not  what  to  reply. 

"  And  what  differ  does  that  make,  Sal  ?  "  asked  Cleav- 
er's boy  in  astonishment. 

"What  differ  does  it  make?  Hear  to  the  cuddy! 
Differ — juist  this  differ,  that  ye'll  walk  oot  wi'  some  dafter 
lass  than  Sal  Mackay.  I  hae  mair  respect  for  mysel'  than 
to  bemean  mysel'  to  gang  wi'  a  nicht-shif t  man ! " 

"  But,"  said  James,  "  I  get  far  better  pay.  Think  o' 
that,  Sal ! " 

"  I'm  no  carin'  for  that,  when  I  canna  pe  there  when 
ye  spend  it,"  said  the  mercenary  Sal,  with,  however,  com- 
mendable straightforwardness. 

"  But  I  fetched  ye  the  brandy-balls,  Sal,"  persisted  the 
once  proud  boy  of  Cleaver's. 

"Brandy-balls!  That  for  your  brandy-balls!"  cried 
Sal,  pointing  to  the  fireplace,  in  which  a  little  blue  flame 
was  still  burning,  at  the  spot  where  the  Tam  Luke's  sweet- 
meats had  been  so  irregularly  consumed.  "D'ye  think 
that  Sal  Mackay  is  to  be  dependent  every  nicht  on  a  chap 
that  has  to  gang  on  duty  at  half -past  seven  ? " 

"  Eight  o'clock ! "  said  Cleaver's  boy,  eagerly. 

"  At  half -past  seven,"  said  Sal,  jerking  her  head  pug- 
naciously at  each  syllable,  "  he  pits  on  claes  that  are  a  dis- 
grace to  be  seen  forbye  smelled.  And  what's  to  come  o' 
the  lemonades  noo,  I  wad  like  to  ken — or  o'  the  gallery  at 
thetheaytre?" 

"  There's  Saturday  afternoon,  Sal,"  said  James  placa- 
bly, with  a  sudden  access  of  cheerfulness.  He  had  scored 
a  point. 

"  Aye,  there's  Saturday  af ternune,"  replied  Sal,  with 
chilling  cynicism,  "  and  what  will  ye  do  with  your  Satur- 
day afternoon  ?  Ye'll  maybe  tak'  me  ower  to  Aberdour 
again  in  the  boat,  and  be  sae  dazed  and  sleepy-like  that 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  NIGHT-SHIFT  MAN.    151 

ye'll  faa  asleep  on  the  road,  as  ye  did  the  last  time.  And 
hae  everybody  say  in',  '  My  word,  Sal,  but  ye  hae  a  blythe 
young  chap  there.  Ye  maun  hae  been  fine  heartsome 
company  to  him? '  D'ye  think  ony  lass  that  thinks  ony- 
thing  o'  hersel'  wad  stand  the  like  o'  that  ?  " 

Sal  stamped  her  foot  and  paused  for  a  reply.  It  was 
certainly  an  awkward  question.  Sal,  like  most  women 
(thought  James)  was  a  demon  at  "  casting-up  "  when  she 
began. 

Cleaver's  boy  scratched  his  curly  head  and  advanced 
towards  Sal.  He  felt  that  in  the  war  of  words  he  was 
going  to  have  very  distinctly  the  worst  of  it.  But  he 
thought  that  he  might  fare  better  nearer  at  hand.  It  was 
one  of  his  favourite  axioms  that  "  it  is  aye  best  to  argue 
wi'  the  weemen  at  close  grips."  Which,  whether  it  be 
true  or  not,  at  least  shows  that  Cleaver's  boy  was  a  youth 
of  some  experience — but  Sal  Mackay  chose  to  misinterpret 
his  action. 

She  turned  instantly,  and,  snatching  up  an  iron  goblet 
of  hot  water  which  stood  on  the  hearth,  she  advanced  to 
meet  him,  crying,  "  I'll  gie  ye  your  fill  o'  throwin'  water 
on  decent  folk.  An'  this  water  will  keep  ye  fine  and  warm 
on  the  nicht  shift,  my  lad  !  " 

At  this  Cleaver's  boy  turned  and  fled.  But  as  he 
scudded  down  the  stairs,  bent  nearly  double,  the  boiling 
water  from  Sal  Mackay's  pan  fell  in  stinging  drops  upon 
the  back  of  his  neck,  and,  what  was  worse,  upon  his  suit 
of  new  clothes,  bought  with  his  week's  wages  and  donned 
for  the  first  time. 

When  Cleaver's  boy  reached  the  pavement,  he  dusted 
the  water  splashes  off  as  well  as  he  could,  and  walked 
thoughtfully  and  determinedly  across  Nicholson  Street. 

"  It'll  be  an  awesome  savin'  in  lemonade,"  he  said, "  an' 
that  dreadf u'  expensive  bottle  lemonade  too ! " 


152  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

A  tramcar  was  passing.  A  wild  thought  ran  through 
his  brain. 

"  Dod,"  he  said,  "  I  declare  I'll  save  that  muckle  by 
giein'  up  Sal— I'll  risk  it." 

And  he  hailed  the  car  and  walked  very  slowly  towards 
it  when  it  stopped.  The  conductor  waved  to  him  to 
come  on. 

"  Could  ye  no  hae  run,  man,  an'  no  wasted  a'  this 
time  ?  "  he  said,  when  Cleaver's  boy  had  at  last  got  him- 
self upon  the  platform. 

"  I  was  gettin'  my  twopence- worth,"  said  James  An- 
nan, with  dignity  ;  "  I  am  an  inside  passenger  !  "  And 
he  went  through  the  glass  door  and  sat  beside  Bailie  Hol- 
den,  who  was  going  home  to  dinner  and  was  already  think- 
ing of  Bogie  roll. 

The  Bailie  and  Cleaver's  boy  got  out  at  the  same  place. 
They  made  their  way  to  the  same  house.  The  Bailie  let 
himself  in  by  the  front  door.  Cleaver's  boy  went  equally 
unannounced  to  the  back.  But  Cleaver's  boy  knew  that 
he  had  pretty  Janet  of  Inverness  waiting  for  him,  whereas 
the  Bailie  only  had  his  wife.  And  in  these  circumstances 
most  people  would  have  preferred  to  enter  by  the  back 
door  with  James  Annan. 

Janet  of  Inverness  was  standing  by  the  kitchen-win- 
dow polishing  a  brass  preserving  pan  in  which  she  could 
admire  her  dimpled  chin,  and  the  hair  which,  curling 
naturally,  did  not  need  the  intervention  of  red-hot  knit- 
ting needles  to  be  beautiful. 

Janet  ran  hastily  to  the  door. 

"  Do  you  want  to  see  the  maister  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  James  Annan  ;  "  wull  ye  hae  me, 
Janet?" 

Janet  of  Inverness  looked  him  a  moment  in  the  eyes. 
What  she  read  there,  Janet  only  knows.     At  any  rate  it 


THE  CROOK  m  THE  LOT  OP  CLEAVER'S  BOY.  I53 

seemed  to  be  satisfactory  enough,  for,  with  all  the  ardour 
of  love's  young  dream,  she  fell  on  his  neck,  and  mur- 
mured, "  Aye,  Jamie,  when — "  (here  Janet  of  Inverness 
sobbed) — "  when  ye  get  a  rise  !  " 


ADVENTUEE  XXIV. 

THE   CEOOK  IJT  THE   LOT  OF   CLEAYER'S   BOY. 

I  SHOULD  have  mentioned  before  that  Inverness  Janet's 
other  name  was  Urquhart,  but  for  the  fact  that  second 
names  do  not  seem  to  matter  anywhere,  except  in  those 
grades  of  society  where  persons  require  calling  cards  to 
remind  them  of  each  others'  names. 

It  was  only  a  natural  precisian  like  Mr.  Cleg  Kelly  who 
always  insisted  on  the  second  name.  But  Cleg  had  a  rea- 
son for  that.  He  was  himself  in  the  curious  position  of 
having  no  ascertained  first  name.  There  was  a  tradition 
in  the  family  that  he  had  been  baptized  Bryan,  but  his 
mother  had  never  used  the  name.  And  since  his  father 
and  everyone  else  had  always  called  him  Cleg,  Cleg  Kelly 
he  remained  all  his  life — or  at  least,  as  they  say  commer- 
cially, "  to  date." 

But  it  is  with  Inverness  Janet  and  the  faithless  and 
easily  consoled  James  Annan,  late  assistant  to  Mr.  Cleav- 
er, butcher,  that  we  have  presently  to  do.  Janet's  con- 
ditional acceptance  of  his  devotion  seemed  in  a  fair  way 
to  being  made  absolute.  For  Cleaver's  boy  proved  a  suc- 
cess at  the  night  work.  But  in  spite  of  this,  and  of  his 
apparently  assured  success,  both  in  the  fields  of  practical 
sanitation  and  in  those  of  love,  James  Annan  was  clearly 
not  happy. 
11 


154  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

Judging  by  some  past  experience  of  his  own,  Cleg 
thought  he  must  be  pining  for  his  old  freedom. 

"  What  for  do  ye  no  rin  away,  if  ye  want  to  be  rid  o' 
Janet  ?  "  was  Cleg's  contribution  to  the  problem. 

"  Hand  your  tongue  !  I  dinna  want  to  get  rid  o' 
Janet  1 "  said  Cleaver's  boy,  loyally,  but  without  indigna- 
tion.    Such  things  had  been,  and  might  be  again. 

"  It's  aboot  Janet  onyway,"  said  wise  Cleg,  shaking  his 
head ;  "  hae  Sal  or  Susy  been  botherin'  her  ?  " 

"  Na,"  said  Janet's  lover,  "  they  ken  better.  My  cer- 
tes,  Janet  wad  gie  them  the  door  in  their  faces  and  then 
send  for  a  polissman." 

"  Ye  had  better  tell  me,  at  ony  rate,"  said  Cleg. 

And  with  a  little  pressing,  James  Annan  did  unburden 
his  sore  heart. 

"  Ye  see,"  he  said,  "  Janet's  bonny — or  I  think 
sae " 

"  It  is  the  same  thing  exactly  ! "  interjected  Cleg. 

"  She's  bonny,  an'  easy  to  be  doin'  wi'.  She's  no  sair 
ava'  in  the  way  o'  expense.  She  is  a  natural  saver  hersel', 
an'  she's  aye  at  me  to  be  puttin'  by  the  siller.  0,  in  some 
ways  it  is  juist  like  heeven — nae  leemonades,  nae  swing 
rides,  nae  merry-go-rounds,  nae  shows!  I  declare  she 
cares  no  a  buckie  for  Pepper's  Ghost.  In  that  respect 
there's  no  a  mair  agreeabler  lass  in  the  toon.  Janet  is  aye 
pleased  to  tak'  a  walk  on  the  Calton,  or  maybe  in  the  Gar- 
dens, or  to  the  Museum,  or  doon  the  shore  to  Leith  to  see 
the  ships,  or,  what  pleases  her  best,  juist  doon  to  the  Wa- 
verley  Station  to  see  the  Heelant  train  come  in.  0,  Cleg, 
she  is  sic  a  weel-dooin',  couthy,  kindly  lass,  that  ony  man 
micht  hae  been  prood  o'  her." 

'*  What  is't,  then,"  said  Cleg,  "  since  she's  sae  perfect  ? 
Is't  the  poetry  ?  "  To  Cleg  "  the  poetry  "  was  a  trouble 
which  might  seize  a  victim  at  any  moment,  like  the  tooth- 


THE  CROOK  IN  THE  LOT  OF  CLEAVER'S  BOY.  155 

ache.  "And  then  where  are  ye?"  he  would  add,  co- 
gently. 

But  it  was  not  the  poetry.  It  was  a  deeper  grief.  It 
appeared  from  the  tale  which  Cleg  laboriously  extracted 
from  the  reluctant  and  deeply  wounded  suitor,  that  Janet, 
though  a  well-doing  lass  in  every  respect,  had  one  grave 
fault. 

All  day  she  was  at  work  quietly  and  willingly.  It  was 
the  nature  of  James's  occupation  that  he  should  be  in  the 
neighbourhood  in  the  early  morning.  At  that  hour  Janet, 
in  her  working  gown,  was  all  that  heart  could  desire. 
But  when  Cleaver's  boy  chanced  to  go  round  in  the  after- 
noon, or  met  Janet  by  appointment,  some  malicious  pixie 
had  wrought  a  sea-change  in  the  lass  of  Inverness. 

She  would  then  tell,  with  the  greatest  candour  and 
engaging  innocence,  tales  which  even  a  faithful  lover 
could  not  otherwise  characterise  than  as  "whoppers." 
This  mania  appeared  to  come  upon  her  whenever  she  had 
taken  off  her  morning  wrapper  and  put  on  her  company 
dress.  She  was  going  (so  she  declared)  to  "  the  mistress  " 
to  ask  for  a  few  evenings  off  in  order  to  fulfil  her  innu- 
merable social  engagements.  Every  house  where  at  any 
time  she  had  been  engaged  (as  kitchen-maid)  opened  wide 
its  doors  to  her  as  a  welcome  guest.  She  told  the  cook, 
who  listened  with  unconcealed  scorn,  how  she  had  been  at 
balls  and  suppers  galore  in  "  the  best  houses  "  in  Melville 
Street  and  Princes  Street.  She  must  really,  she  said, 
begin  to  remodel  and  refashion  some  of  her  many  silks 
and  satins  for  the  approaching  season. 

Only  the  evening  before,  she  had  entertained  the  serv- 
ants' hall  at  Bailie  Holden's  with  an  account  of  a  dinner 
she  had  been  at  the  night  before  in  the  Grange.  She  had 
even  got  off  early  in  order  to  have  her  hair  done  by  the 
hairdresser. 


156  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  The  hairdresser,  as  a  great  favour,  is  going  to  arrange 
it  in  the  latest  style  for  five  shillings,  instead  of  ten-and- 
six,  his  usual  charge,"  said  Janet  of  Inverness,  with  a 
glance  like  an  angel's  for  innocence.  Then  she  described 
her  drive  to  the  house  in  a  four-wheeler.  "  My  hair  would 
have  got  so  blown  about,  or  I  should  have  gone  in  a  han- 
som, which  is  much  more  distinguished."  Her  former 
master  had,  it  appeared,  come  into  the  hall  to  receive  her. 
Two  gentlemen  had  almost  quarrelled  as  to  who  should 
see  her  home.  A  handsome  and  distinguished  gentleman 
and  a  member  of  Parliament  for  the  city,  celebrated  for 
his  gallantry  to  the  ladies,  had,  however,  forestalled  them 
both,  arranged  the  shawl  deliciously  about  her  shoulders 
with  well-accustomed  fingers,  and  had  thereafter  driven 
home  with  her  in  a  hansom. 

"  It  did  not  matter  about  the  hair  then,  you  know," 
said  gay  Janet  of  Inverness,  looking  daringly  at  Cleaver's 
boy. 

At  this  the  cook  had  laughed  out  loud.  She  then  said 
that  it  was  all  lies,  and  that  she  had  seen  Janet  walking 
along  the  Bridges  with  another  girl  at  the  supposed  hour 
of  the  dinner.  Thus  was  shame  brought  upon  Cleaver's 
boy  and  upon  the  pride  and  good  name  of  his  sweetheart. 

"An'  what  do  ye  think  I  should  do.  Cleg?"  asked 
James  Annan. 

"  I  wad  gie  her  a  lickin'  and  gar  her  stop,"  said  Cleg, 
who  had  still  prehistoric  notions  as  to  the  discipline  of 
women. 

"  Na,"  said  Cleaver's  boy ;  "  I  hae  thocht  o'  that.  But, 
man,  she's  no  like  Susy  or  Sal.  Ye  couldna  lift  a  hand  to 
her  when  she  looks  at  ye  wi'  yon  e'en,  an'  tells  ye  that  her 
faither  was  either  a  Highland  Chief  or  a  Toon  Councillor 
o'  Inverness.     I  couldna  do  it.  Cleg." 

"  Hoot,"  said  Cleg,  "  then  I  wad  try  no  to  heed.     She 


A  COMELY  PROVIDEKCE  IN  A  NEW  FROCK.    157 

may  grow  oot  o't.  An'  thae  Heelant  folk  are  aye  leein' 
onyway.  Think  on  a'  the  lees  they  tell  aboot  their  Bonny 
Prince  Chairlie ! " 

"I  hae  tried  no  to  mind,"  answered  Cleaver's  boy, 
sadly ;  "  but  when  I  see  the  ither  yins  a'  laughin'  at  her 
an'  her  no  seeing  it,  but  gaun  straight  on  wi'  her  daft-like 
story,  I  tell  ye,  Cleg,  it  pits  me  fair  wild.  There'll  be 
murder  dune,  Cleg,  gin  it's  no  stoppit." 

"  Weel,  Cleaver,"  said  Cleg  philosophically,  "  I  think  I 
see  the  reason  on't.  She  disna  gang  to  shows  an'  theay- 
tres,  to  save  the  siller ;  but  she  says  she  gangs,  an'  that 
costs  naething.    I  dinna  see  what  ye  hae  to  compleen  o' ! " 

"  If  that's  a'  ye  can  tell  me,"  said  Cleaver's  boy  indig- 
nantly, "  I  wadna  hae  missed  muckle  if  ye  had  stayed  at 
hame." 

"Hoots,  butcher,"  said  Cleg,  with  indulgence,  "dinna 
gang  a  af[  like  the  fu£[  o'  a  match.  There's  little  sense 
and  nae  siller  in  that.  But  I'll  tell  ye  what,  butcher : 
I'll  speak  to  Miss  Celie.  She  will  ken  what  ye  had 
better  do." 

It  was  thus  indirectly  that  Providence  was  appealed 
to  in  the  Sooth  Back. 


ADVENTURE  XXV. 

A   COMELY   PROVIDENCE   IN  A   NEW   FROCK. 

Cleg  was  as  good  as  his  word.  He  went  that  very 
night  to  call  on  Miss  Tennant  at  Aurelia  Villa.  He 
found  her  in  a  philanthropic  frame  of  mind.  She  had 
received  from  the  dressmaker  a  dress  of  the  latest  mode, 
and  she  was  conscious  that  the  new  fashion  suited  her 
like  a  garment  fashioned  by  the  fairies  in  a  dream.     Also 


158  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

(what  was  even  better)  that  it  would  make  other  girls 
whose  shoulders  were  not  so  good  and  whose  figure  was 
less  slim  and  graceful,  look  perfectly  hideous.  Yet  they 
would  have  to  wear  it.  Celie  felt  that  evening  that  there 
was  little  left  to  wish  for  in  this  sinful  world.  She  looked 
out  of  the  window  toward  the  west.  There  was  also  (it 
seemed  on  purpose)  a  beautiful  sunset  which  glorified  the 
purple  cliffs  of  Arthur's  Seat — a  quiet,  providential  sun- 
set, for  it  went  so  well  with  the  colour  of  her  new  dress. 
Besides,  here  was  Mr.  Donald  Iverach  walking  slowly  up 
the  Avenue.  And  yet  some  people  complained  that  this 
was  not  a  good  world  !     What  would  folk  say  next  ? 

But  Cleg  forestalled  the  Junior  Partner.  He  came  by 
the  back  door,  and  when  in  a  strait  betwixt  two,  a  serving 
maid  will  always  answer  a  knock  at  the  back  before  a 
ring  at  the  front  door.  The  back  door  is  more  variously 
interesting. 

So  Cleg  had  the  floor  of  the  house,  and  was  just  finish- 
ing his  tale,  when  Mr.  Donald  Iverach  was  announced. 

Celie  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  with  a  motion  which 
signified  at  once  a  welcome  and  a  desire  that  he  should 
not  interrupt.  So  the  Junior  Partner,  who  had  for  some 
time  been  accustomed  to  devote  more  time  to  the  study  of 
her  moods  than  he  had  ever  done  to  his  Bible  (and  he 
had  not  neglected  that  either  when  nobody  saw  him),  sat 
down  upon  a  sofa  and  became  interested  in  the  pattern  of 
some  crochet  work,  which  Miss  Celie  had  tossed  on  a  chair 
with  characteristic  impetuosity  when  she  had  rushed  across 
the  room  to  greet  Cleg. 

"  Are  ye  gaun  to  pit  on  that  dress  on  Sabbath  at  the 
Sunday  school  ?  "  asked  Cleg,  when  he  had  time  to  think 
a  little  about  his  own  affairs. 

Celie  looked  at  him  with  a  small  start  of  ingenuous 
wonder.     It  was  a  good  little  start  in  its  way,  and  ex- 


A  COMELY  PROVIDENCE  IN  A  NEW  FROCK.    159 

pressed  amazement  that  anyone  should  notice  so  plain 
and  simple  a  thing  as  her  new  dress.  It  is  an  undoubted 
fact  that  she  was  a  truthful  girl,  and  it  is  also  a  fact  that 
she  was  quite  aware  how  instantly  the  summer  dress  had 
riveted  the  attention  of  both  Cleg  and  the  Junior  Part- 
ner. Yet  the  little  start  expressed  as  plainly  as  words  her 
surprise,  even  her  sorrow,  that  in  the  midst  of  so  serious  a 
world  the  minds  of  men  and  boys  should  dwell  upon  so 
vain  a  thing  as  a  girl's  gown.  Perhaps  Celie's  little  start 
was  her  way  of  telling  stories.  For  the  sage  sayeth  that 
all  women  tell  stories  habitually  and  unintentionally, 
whereas  men  tell  them  only  occasionally  but  intentionally. 

At  any  rate,  whether  it  was  the  start  or  whether  it 
was  merely  owing  to  her  sympathetic  nature,  after  a  mo- 
ment's consideration  of  the  sad  failing  of  Janet  of  Inver- 
ness, Celie  lifted  her  eyes  to  those  of  the  Junior  Partner. 

"  Poor  girl,"  she  said,  "  I  quite  understand ;  don't 
you?" 

"  You  see,  I  have  not  heard,"  said  the  Junior  Partner, 
hesitating. 

Celie  instantly  withdrew  her  eyes  from  his.  She  looked 
at  once  hurt  and  disappointed.  He  set  up  for  being  sym- 
pathetic and  kind,  and  he  had  failed  to  understand  a 
simple  thing  like  this.  He  was  clearly  unworthy  of  con- 
fidence. Celie  Tennant  turned  to  Cleg  for  assistance.  He 
was  looking  at  her  with  wide  eyes  of  boyish  adoration. 
Cleg  at  any  rate  understood.  She  turned  half  round  in 
her  chair  and  the  profile  which  she  presented  to  Mr. 
Donald  Iverach  struck  a  chill  through  the  room  like  that 
part  of  Greenland  which  looks  towards  the  Pole.  Celie's 
lovers  did  not  lack  varied  interests  in  their  life ;  and  per- 
haps that  was  why  she  had  so  many.  For  in  the  affairs 
of  the  heart  most  men  like  good  sport  and  a  run  for  their 
money. 


160  CLEa  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  Come,  Cleg,"  she  said,  rising,  "  I  want  to  speak  to 
you.  My  father  is  in  the  garden,  Mr.  Iverach ! "  she 
added,  pointedly. 

What  Mr.  Iverach  said  under  his  breath  of  his  excel- 
lent friend  Mr.  Kobert  Greg  Tennant  at  that  moment,  it 
is  perhaps  better  not  to  write  down.  He  rose  and  went 
to  the  window.  From  the  wide  space  of  its  oriel,  he 
watched  with  furtive  sidelong  gloom  the  confabulation  of 
Celie  and  Cleg.  Celie  was  explaining  something  with 
great  animation  to  the  boy,  who  looked  down  and  seemed 
a  little  doubtful.  Then  with  inimitable  archness,  which 
seemed  thrown  away  upon  an  Arab  of  the  city  (if  it  were 
intended  for  him),  Celie  explained  the  whole  matter  over 
again  from  the  top  of  the  steps.  She  went  a  little  way 
back  towards  the  house. 

"  'Now  you  quite  understand  ?  "  she  cried  with  impres- 
sive emphasis.  And  lest  he  should  not  yet  comprehend, 
she  turned  ere  she  reached  the  door,  ran  to  Cleg  at  the 
gate  with  still  more  inimitable  daintiness,  and,  with  her 
hand  upon  his  arm,  she  explained  the  whole  thing  all 
over  again.  The  Junior  Partner  felt  a  little  string  tighten 
somewhere  about  the  region  in  which  (erroneously)  he  be- 
lieved his  heart  to  lie.     He  clenched  his  fist  at  the  sight. 

"  0  confound  it ! "  he  remarked,  for  no  very  obvious 
reason,  as  he  turned  away. 

But  Celie  was  full  of  the  most  complete  unconscious- 
ness. Yet  (of  course  without  knowing  it)  she  quite  spoilt 
the  game  of  two  young  men,  who  were  playing  lawn 
tennis  on  the  court  of  a  neighbouring  house.  Their  re- 
turns grew  wilder  and  their  services  were  beneath  con- 
tempt. Their  several  partners  (attractive  young  women 
whom  the  new  style  of  dress  did  not  suit)  met  casually 
at  the  net,  and  one  of  them  remarked  to  the  other,  "  Isn't 
she  a  minx?    And  her  pretending  to  be  good  and  all 


A  COMELY  PROVIDENCE  IN  A  NEW  FROCK.    161 

that ! "  Which  was  perhaps  their  way  of  clenching  fists 
and  saying,  "  Confound  it ! "     Or  worse. 

Then  in  a  little  while  Cleg  went  down  the  Avenue 
with  a  sense  that  the  heavens  had  fallen,  and  that  angels 
were  getting  quite  common  about  the  garden  gates  of  the 
South  Side.  He  carried  the  arm  on  which  Celie  had  laid 
her  hand  a  little  apart  from  him.  It  was  as  blissfully 
sensitive  as  if  he  had  been  ten  years  older. 

Celie  stood  a  moment  at  the  gate  looking  after  him. 
She  shaded  her  eyes  from  the  sunset  and  looked  down  the 
long  street.  It  is  a  charming  pose  when  one  is  sure  of 
one's  arms  and  shoulders.  At  this  moment  one  of  the 
young  men  in  the  garden  sent  a  ball  over  the  house,  and 
the  eyes  of  his  partner  met  those  of  the  other  girl.  Peace 
was  upon  the  earth  at  that  sweet  hour  of  sunset,  but  good- 
will to  women  was  not  in  their  two  hearts.  Celie  felt  that 
the  light  summer  silk  had  already  paid  for  itself. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  bit  in  religion — so  there  !  "  said  the 
girl  next  door  to  her  friend  over  the  net. 

At  that  moment  Celie  gave  a  little  sigh  to  think  that 
her  first  night  in  the  new  garment  was  so  nearly  over. 
''  And  father  wanted  to  give  me  a  black  silk,"  said  Celie 
Tennant  to  herself.  Celie  felt  that  she  had  not  wasted 
her  time  nor  her  father's  money. 

So  to  show  her  gratitude  she  went  and  found  her 
father.  He  was  slowly  walking  up  and  down  the  little 
plot  of  garden,  meditatively  smoking  his  large  evening 
pipe.  He  stopped  now  before  a  favourite  row  of  cabbages, 
and  now  at  the  end  of  the  strawberry  bed.  He  regarded 
them  equally  with  the  same  philosophical  and  meditative 
attention.  He  was  a  practical  man  and  insisted  on  grow- 
ing vegetables  in  his  own  private  domains  at  the  back, 
leaving  his  daughter  to  cultivate  roses  and  the  graces  in 
the  front  garden. 


162  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

Celie  elevated  her  nose  and  sniffed  as  she  came  out. 
"  0  father,  what  a  horrid  smell  of  tobacco  you  are  mak- 
ing ! " 

"  It  is  almost  inevitable,"  he  said,  apologetically ;  "  you 
see  it  is  tobacco  I  am  smoking." 

If  it  had  been  asafcetida,  Celie  could  not  have  ap- 
peared more  disgusted. 

"  I  thought  your  young  thieves  smoked  at  that  club  of 
yours,"  said  her  father. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  but  that  is  different,"  she  answered. 

"  Yes,  it  is  different,"  chuckled  her  parent,  thinking 
of  what  his  tobacco  cost  him. 

Then  Celie  went  on  to  explain  all  about  Cleaver's  boy 
and  his  trouble,  telling  the  sad  tale  of  the  "  failing  "  of 
Janet  of  Inverness,  as,  well — as  I  should  like  to  have  the 
tale  of  my  weaknesses  told,  if  it  were  necessary  that  they 
should  be  told  at  all. 

Her  father  smoked  and  listened.  Sometimes  he  lifted 
a  snail  from  the  leaf  of  a  cabbage  with  care.  Anon  he 
kicked  a  stone  sideways  off  the  path,  and  ever  he  smoked, 
listened,  and  nodded  without  comment. 

"  These  are  all  your  orders,  ma'am  ?  "  he  asked  slowly, 
when  his  daughter  had  finished. 

"  I'll  pull  your  ears,  father,  now  I  will,"  said  she,  with 
equal  want  of  connection. 

And  did  it. 

"  Oh,  I  had  forgotten  Mr.  Iverach  !  "  she  cried,  run- 
ning off  towards  the  house  with  a  little  gesture  of  de- 
spair ;  "  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Give  him  his  orders,  too  ! "  her  father  called  after 
her,  as  the  last  flutter  of  the  new  dress  flashed  through 
the  twinkling  poplars. 


R.  S.  V.  P.  163 

ADVENTURE   XXVL 

E.    S.    V.    P. 

A  GEEAT  event  happened  in  the  back-kitchen  of  Bailie 
Holden.  The  postman  had  brought  a  letter  with  a  fine 
monogram — a  very  stiff,  square  letter,  for  Miss  Janet 
Urquhart.  The  table-maid,  who  considered  herself  quite 
as  good  as  a  governess,  examined  it  as  though  there  must 
needs  be  some  mistake  in  the  address.  The  housemaid 
turned  it  about  and  looked  at  it  endways  and  upside 
down,  to  see  if  there  might  not  be  another  name  concealed 
somewhere.  She  rubbed  it  with  her  apron  to  see  if  the 
top  would  come  off  and  something  be  revealed  beneath. 
The  cook,  into  whose  hands  the  missive  next  passed,  left 
a  perfect  tracing  of  her  thumb  and  fore-finger  upon  it, 
done  in  oils,  and  very  well  executed,  too. 

In  this  condition  it  reached  the  back-kitchen  at  last, 
and  the  hands  of  Janet  of  Inverness.  As  she  took  the 
letter  in  her  little  damp  fingers,  she  grew  pale  to  the  lips. 
What  she  feared,  I  cannot  tell — probably  only  the  coming 
true  of  some  of  her  dreams. 

In  a  cluster  round  the  door  stood  the  housemaid,  the 
table-maid,  and  family  cat — the  one  which  went  habitually 
on  four  legs,  I  mean.  The  cook  moved  indignantly  about 
the  range,  clattering  tongs,  pans,  and  other  instruments  of 
music,  as  it  is  the  immemorial  use  of  all  cooks  when  the 
bird  in  the  breast  does  not  sing  sweetly.  She  was,  of 
course,  quite  above  curiosity  as  to  what  Janet's  letter 
might  contain. 

"  Likely  it's  an  invitation ! "  sneered  the  housemaid. 

"Aye,  frae  the  police  ! "  added  the  table-maid  from  the 
doorway.     She  was  plain,  and  Cleaver's  boy  never  stopped 


164:  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

to  gossip  with  her.  Not  that  she  cared  or  would  have 
stood  talking  with  the  likes  of  him. 

The  cook  banged  the  top  of  the  range,  like  Tubal-cain 
when  Naamah  vexed  him  in  that  original  stithy,  near  by 
the  city  of  Enoch  in  the  land  of  J^od. 

Janet  of  Inverness  opened  the  letter.  Scarcely  could 
she  believe  her  eyes.  It  was  a  formal  invitation  upon  a 
beautifully  written  card,  and  contained  a  wish  on  the  part 
of  Mr.  Greg  Tennant  and  Miss  Tennant  that  Miss  Janet 
Urquhart  would  favour  them  with  her  company  at  Aure- 
lia  Villa  on  the  evening  of  Friday  the  17th,  at  eight 
o'clock.     E.S.V.P. 

Janet  sank  into  a  seat  speechless,  still  holding  the  in- 
vitation. The  table-maid  came  and  looked  over  her 
shoulder. 

"  Goodness  me ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  she  read  the  card. 

"  She's  been  tellin'  the  truth  after  a',"  said  the  house- 
maid, who,  having  some  claims  to  beauty,  was  glad  of 
Janet's  good  fortune,  and  hoped  that  the  like  might  hap- 
pen to  herself. 

"  I  dinna  believe  a  word  o't ! "  said  the  cook  indig- 
nantly.    "  I'se  warrant  she  wrote  it  hersel' !  " 

But  Janet  had  not  written  it  herself.  She  could  not 
even  bring  herself  to  write  the  answer,  though  she  had 
received  a  sound  School  Board  education.  But  the  three 
E's  do  not  contemplate  the  answering  of  invitations  upon 
thick  cardboard,  ending  "  R.S.V.P."  They  stop  at  the 
spelling  of  "trigonometry"  and  the  solving  of  vulgar 
fractions. 

In  spite  of  her  silks  and  satins  and  her  vaunted  expe- 
rience, Janet  did  not  know  the  meaning  of  "  E.S.V.P." 
But  the  housemaid  had  not  brushed  clothes  ten  years  for 
nothing. 

"  It    means    *  Reply    shortly,   very    pleased ' ! "    said 


R.  S.  V.  P.  165 

she.  Which,  being  substantially  correct,  settled  the 
question. 

Nevertheless,  poor  Janet  was  in  great  perturbation. 
When  Cleaver's  boy  went  to  see  her  that  evening  before 
going  on  duty  she  showed  him  the  card. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  hae  nothing  fit  to 
wear,  and  I  am  feared  to  gang." 

Cleaver's  boy  looked  up  at  the  ceiling  of  the  back- 
kitchen,  as  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  sink,  unconscious 
that  there  was  a  tap  running  behind  him  and  that  the 
plug  was  in. 

"  There  was  that  purple  brocade  ye  telled  me  aboot, 
wi'  the  auld  lace  and  the  pearls  that  belonged  to  your 
grandmither,  the  Earl's  dochter,"  said  James  Annan, 
meditatively. 

"  0  aye,"  said  Janet.  "  Yes,  of  course  there  is  that 
ane."     But  she  did  not  look  happy. 

"  Or  there  is  the  plain  white  muslin  wi'  the  crimson 
sash  aboot  the  waist,  that  the  twa  gentlemen  were  for 
stickin'  ane  anither  aboot,  yon  nicht  they  quarrelled  wha 
was  to  see  ye  hame." 

"  Aye,"  said  Janet,  piteously,  "  there's  that  ane 
too." 

"  An'  what  say  ye,"  continued  James  Annan  remorse- 
lessly, "to  the  yellow  sattin,  trimmed  wi'  flounces  o' 
glory-pidgeon  roses  and ?  " 

Cleaver's  boy  suddenly  stopped.  He  had  been  feeling 
for  some  time  a  growing  coolness  somewhere.  But  at  this 
point  the  water  in  the  sink  ran  over  on  the  floor,  and  he 
turned  round  to  discover  that  he  had  been  sitting  in  a  full 
trough  of  excellent  Moorfoot  water,  with  the  spigot  run- 
ning briskly  down  his  back  all  the  while. 

"  0  James,"  cried  Janet,  pleased  to  get  a  chance  to 
change  the  subject,  "what  for  did  ye  do  that,  James? 


166  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

And  your  new  breeks,  too  ! "  she  added,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  supreme  pain. 

"  I  didna  do  it  for  naething,"  remarked  Cleaver's  boy, 
tartly.  "  I  didna  do  it  ava'.  It  was  you  that  left  the 
spigot  rinnin  and  the  plug  in  ! "  he  added,  after  a  thought- 
ful pause,  while  he  realised  how  cool  a  sitz-bath  can  be, 
even  on  a  summer  evening,  when  one  stands  by  an  open 
window. 

Now  nothing  is  more  provoking,  when  you  are  per- 
forming a  high  and  noble  work  in  the  reformation  of 
another  person's  morals,  than  to  have  the  thread  of  your 
weighty  discourse  broken  by  something  so  ridiculous  as 
sitting  down  in  a  bucket  of  water.  There  was  every  rea- 
son why  Cleaver's  boy  should  be  annoyed. 

But  Janet  broke  out  in  a  sobbing  ecstacy  of  laughter, 
which  irritated  her  lover  more  even  than  her  wrong- 
doing. 

"  I  wonder  at  you,"  he  said,  "  telling  a'  thae  lees  when 
ye  haena  a  dress  to  your  back,  forbye  the  alpaca  that  ye 
pit  on  on  Sabbaths  ! " 

It  was  a  mistake,  and  Cleaver's  boy  knew  it  as  soon  as 
he  had  the  words  out  of  his  mouth. 

Janet  instantly  stopped  in  the  midst  of  her  laughter. 

"  I  would  have  you  know,"  she  said  with  dignity,  "  that 
I  shall  accept  the  invitation.  And  I  will  never  speak  to 
you  again.  I'll  thank  you  to  take  yourself  out  of  my  pres- 
ence, James  Annan  ! " 

"And  out  of  Bailie  Holden's  back-kitchen!"  contin- 
ued her  lover,  whose  colour  did  not  diminish  with  the 
growing  coolness  consequent  upon  standing  in  a  draught. 
Then  as  he  went  up  the  steps  from  the  area  he  cried,  "  Be 
sure  and  put  on  the  brocade,  Janet ! " 

It  was  an  unbearable  affront,  for  Janet  had  told  her 
stories  so  often,  and  with  so  much  innocent  feeling,  that 


JANET  TASTES  THE  HERB  BITTER-SWEET.    167 

though,  of  course,  she  could  not  quite  believe  them  her- 
self, she  had  nevertheless  all  the  feelings  of  an  indignant 
moralist  insulted  and  outraged  in  her  tenderest  suscepti- 
bilities. 


ADVENTUEE  XXVII. 

JAKET  OF  INVERNESS  TASTES  THE  HERB  BITTER-SWEET. 

Janet  duly  arrived  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Robert  Greg 
Tennant  at  the  hour  named  in  the  invitation.  She  had 
had  a  great  struggle  with  herself,  but  pride  had  ultimately 
triumphed.  Her  fellow-servants  had  given  her  no  peace. 
She  had,  indeed,  to  dress  in  her  black  alpaca.  But,  sure 
enough,  her  hair  had  been  done  in  the  latest  fashion  by 
her  only  friend,  the  girl  with  whom  the  cook  had  seen  her 
walking,  who  was  an  assistant  in  a  hair-dresser's  shop.  It 
was  so  twisted  and  tortured  that  Janet  felt  "  as  if  she  had 
slept  on  it  the  wrong  way,"  as  she  expressed  it  to  herself. 
She  passed  and  re-passed  the  end  of  the  Avenue  half-a- 
dozen  times,  but  her  courage  would  not  let  her  ring  the 
bell  of  the  corner  house.  For  there  were  lights  in  nearly 
every  window,  and  a  cab  had  just  driven  away  from  the 
door. 

Poor  Janet's  heart  leapt  within  her,  and  she  had  half 
a  mind  to  turn  homeward  and  confess  that  she  had  been 
romancing.  But  another  cab  stopped  before  the  gate, 
and  through  the  open  door  she  saw  a  glimpse  of  lights 
and  flowers  that  looked  to  her  like  Paradise — as  she 
imagined  it  from  the  hymn-singing  at  the  Salvation 
Army  meetings. 

So  as  the  last  cabman  came  slowly  out  of  the  Avenue, 
Janet  called  to  him.     The  man  was  arranging  his  rugs 


1G8  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

about  him  for  a  long  drive  back  to  his  stand  at  the  centre 
of  the  town. 

"  I'll  give  you  a  sixpence  if  you  will  turn  about  and 
drive  me  up  to  that  door  you  have  just  been  at,"  said 
Janet. 

"  Done,"  said  the  man ;  "  and  good  money  for  the 
job." 

So,  without  betraying  the  least  surprise  or  curiosity, 
the  man  turned  about  his  vehicle,  and  Janet  tripped 
daintily  inside.  They  drove  up  to  the  door  with  pro- 
digious rattle  and  ceremony.  The  cabman  jumped  from 
his  seat  and  rang  the  bell  in  form.  When  the  door  was 
opened,  Janet  Urquhart  paid  the  man  his  easily-earned 
sixpence.  He  touched  his  hat,  and  she  went  leadenly  up 
the  steps. 

A  trim  maid-servant  was  at  the  door,  who  evidently 
had  received  very  definite  orders,  for  only  the  faintest 
curl  of  the  nostril  betrayed  her  own  opinion  of  the  affair. 

When  Janet  was  shown  into  the  cloak-room  her  trou- 
bles began.  Should  she  take  off  her  hat,  or  not  ?  She 
looked  about  to  see  if  the  ladies  had  left  their  hats.  None 
were  to  be  seen.  Yet  she  had  never  seen  ladies  in  the 
evening,  except  bareheaded.  After  long  consideration  she 
resolved  to  keep  her  hat  on.  But  when  she  was  in  the 
doorway  to  go  up  to  the  drawing-room  she  saw  a  lady 
coming  through  the  outer  door  with  a  shawl  of  soft  gauzy 
wool  over  her  head. 

Janet  shrank  back  instantly  and  turned  cold  with  the 
thought  of  her  escape.  With  trembling  hands  she  took 
off  her  hat  and  pinned  her  veil  to  it  as  she  had  once  seen 
her  mistress  do.  The  lady  came  in,  bustling  a  little  like 
one  who  knows  she  is  late. 

"  It  is  cold  to-night,"  she  said  affably  to  the  shy  girl 
standing  in  the  doorway,  but  without  looking  at  her. 


JANET  TASTES  THE  HERB  BITTER-SWEET.    169 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Janet,  and  the  next  moment  she 
could  have  bitten  her  tongue  out  for  the  mistake. 

"  Oh,  how  I  wish  I  had  never  come,"  she  said  a  score 
of  times  to  herself  as  she  went  up  the  stairs. 

But  it  was  too  late  to  turn  back. 

**  What  name  ?  "  said  the  daintily-capped  maiden,  with 
the  curl  of  her  nostril  a  little  more  accentuated. 

For  a  moment  Janet  was  so  taken  aback  that  she  could 
not  even  remember  her  own  name. 

"  Janet,"  she  stammered ;  "  Janet — from  Bailie  Hol- 
den's." 

The  maid's  face  broadened  into  a  smile,  at  sight  of 
which  poor  Janet's  lip  quivered,  and  for  a  moment  she 
thought  that  she  must  burst  out  crying.  Scarcely  was 
she  able  to  keep  back  the  welling  tears.  But  the  door 
was  a  little  open,  and  she  saw  Miss  -  Celie,  whom  she  al- 
ready knew  and  loved.  The  sight  of  that  pleasant  face, 
dimpling  and  flashing  all  over  with  bright  kindness,  re- 
assured her. 

"  Say  '  Janet  Urquhart ' ! "  she  said,  with  a  little  fal- 
tering return  of  assurance  in  her  voice. 

And  the  trim  maid-servant,  with  a  strong  protest  in 
her  tone,  announced  in  accents  of  terrifying  distinctness, 
"  Miss  Janet  Urquhart." 

Then  she  shut  the  door,  and  Janet  was  left  standing 
aghast  and  speechless  in  the  bright  humming  place. 

"  I  would  not  have  done  it,"  soliloquised  the  indignant 
maid  outside,  "  unless  my  place  had  depended  on  it." 

But  within  Celie  Tennant's  drawing-room,  poor  silly 
little  Janet  of  Inverness  was  being  most  pleasantly  and 
charmingly  entertained  by  her  hostess.  Celie  had,  in 
fact,  asked  only  a  few  of  her  most  intimate  friends,  whom 
she  could  trust  with  the  momentous  secret  of  the  loves 
and  sorrows  of  Cleaver's  boy.  The  fascinating  cousin 
12 


170  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

from  the  tented  field  was  there,  ready  for  love  or  war. 
But  it  was  to  Donald  Iverach  that  the  principal  work  of 
the  evening  had  been  allotted. 

It  was  he  who  first  asked  Janet  to  dance  with  him.  It 
was  he  who  sat  out  with  her  after  her  desperate  failure, 
for  she  had  lacked  the  courage  to  say  that  she  had  never 
learned  to  dance.  It  was  he  who  found  her  a  handker- 
chief, when,  with  the  bitterness  of  disappointment,  the 
tears  at  last  would  not  keep  down,  but  welled  piteously 
up  from  the  underlips  of  Janet's  blue  and  childish  eyes. 
It  was  Mr.  Donald  Iverach  who  took  her  down  to  supper, 
where  she  suffered  agonies  over  the  use  of  fish-knives  and 
the  management  of  a  plate  upon  her  knees.  It  was  he 
who  finally  took  her  aside,  and  so  fervidly  pursued  his 
wooing  that,  had  Janet  Urquhart  been  mercenary,  he 
might  without  doubt  have  had  a  suit  for  breach  of  prom- 
ise of  marriage  successfully  brought  against  him.  So  far 
did  the  wooing  proceed,  and  so  fervently  persistent  was 
this  wicked  Junior  Partner,  that,  bewildered  and  dazzled, 
poor  Janet  found  herself  being  pressed  to  name  the  happy 
day,  and,  what  is  more,  in  some  danger  of  doing  it,  too. 
As  for  the  Junior  Partner,  that  young  man  was  obviously 
excited,  but  seemed  quite  unconscious  of  the  risks  he  was 
running.  Had  the  Senior  Partner  heard  him,  he  would 
undoubtedly  have  considered  his  son  to  be  rapidly  quali- 
fying for  a  strait  jacket.  But  the  infatuated  youth  held 
on  his  way.  Janet  and  he  were  sitting  in  a  little  alcove  at 
the  top  of  the  stairs,  cobwebbed  with  the  latest  artistic 
Japonaiseries  of  the  period. 

"  And  now,"  urged  the  reckless  youth,  when  he  had 
sealed  in  due  form  the  silent  acquiescence  he  had  won, 
"  let  us  go  back  and  tell  them  all  that  we  are  going  to  be 
married." 

Mr.  Donald  Iverach  was  certainly  quite  mad.     But 


JANET  TASTES  THE  HERB  BITTER-SWEET.    171 

Janet  of  Inverness  was  madder  still,  for  instead  of  accept- 
ing the  very  eligible  young  man  with  modest  reluctance, 
she  burst  out  crying  all  at  once  without  the  least  warning, 
and  ran  downstairs,  leaving  Donald  Iverach  standing 
spellbound  looking  after  her.  Down  the  stair  and 
through  the  hall  she  ran.  She  opened  the  door  and  flew 
out  into  the  night,  crying  "  James  !  James  !  I  want  you, 
James ! " 

And  the  strangest  part  of  the  whole  is  that  even  as 
she  opened  the  door  two  dark  forms  separated  at  the  outer 
gate. 

"  There  noo,  look  you  after  her,"  said  Cleg  Kelly  to 
Cleaver's  boy.  And  James  Annan  went  as  he  was  bidden. 
The  girl's  wild  cry  of  "James!  James!"  hushed  into 
quite  another  way  of  saying  the  same  words,  when  she 
found  herself  clasped  in  the  arms  of  Janet's  boy — late 
Cleaver's.  For  James  Annan  not  only  had  the  root  of 
the  matter  in  him  by  nature,  but,  as  we  have  seen,  he  was 
a  lad  of  some  little  experience. 

"  What  did  I  tell  you,  sir  ? "  said  Cleg  to  the  Junior 
Partner,  as  they  stood  together  on  the  step,  and  looked 
after  the  pair  who  had  vanished  into  the  darkness. 

"  It  came  out  all  right,  I  grant,"  said  Mr.  Donald 
Iverach,  "  but  I  want  no  more  games  with  pretty  kitchen- 
maids.  I  will  tell  you  what — for  three  full  minutes  I 
thought  she  was  going  to  take  me ! " 

And  the  Junior  Partner  went  down  the  street  at  the 
rate  of  five  miles  an  hour. 


172  C^E^  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

ADVENTUEE  XXVIIL 

THE   E]SrGIKE-DRIVEK  WITH   THE   BEARD. 

What  James  Annan  said  to  little  Janet  of  Inverness 
on  the  way  home,  and  what  Janet  of  Inverness  said  to 
James  Annan,  I  know.  But  since  it  concerns  only  them- 
selves, with  themselves  I  will  leave  it.  At  all  events,  it 
was  no  long  season  before  they  were  at  one.  Miss  Cecilia 
Tennant's  exact  share  in  the  plot  is  a  harder  matter  to 
apportion.  But  that  she  had  a  share  in  it  far  beyond  the 
mere  issuing  of  the  invitations  is  certain,  for  Mr.  Donald 
Iverach  was  heard  saying  to  the  arch-conspirator  in  the 
semi-privacy  of  the  dusky  angle  of  the  stairs,  "  But  what 
I  want  to  make  out  is,  what  /am  to  get  out  of  it." 

"  Virtue  is  its  own  reward,"  replied  Miss  Celie,  sen- 
tentiously,  "  and,  besides,  you  make  love  to  that  sort  of 
person  so  well,  that  it  is  evident  you  must  have  hacj  a 
great  deal  of  practice." 

"  Now  I  call  that  a  little  hard  on  me,"  said  the  Junior 
Partner,  who  felfc  that  he  had  made  a  martyr  of  himself 
all  the  evening,  and  that  he  had,  indeed,  narrowly  escaped 
the  sacrificial  altar. 

"  Wait,"  he  said  threateningly,  "  till  you  want  me  to 
do  anything  else  of  the  kind  for  you." 

Celie  Tennant  set  her  pretty  head  the  least  bit  to  the 
side.  It  could  not  be  called  a  cock,  but  it  was  the  next 
thing  to  it.  Next  she  pursed  her  mouth  till  it  looked  like 
a  cherry. 

"  You  would  do  it  just  as  quick  if  I  asked  you  to  do 
it  all  over  again,"  said  Celie  Tennant,  looking  pins  and 
needles  at  Donald  Iverach,  till  the  very  palms  of  his  hands 
pingled. 


THE  ENGINE-DRIVER  WITH  THE  BEARD.      173 

The  Junior  Partner  stamped  his  foot. 

"  Oh,  hang  it  all !  "  he  cried,  "  I  believe  that's  the 
God's  truth— I  would." 

That  night  as  he  walked  home,  the  Junior  Partner, 
who  had  no  gifts  for  the  imparting  of  religious  instruc- 
tion, but  who  respected  those  who  had  (especially  if  they 
were  pretty),  wondered  what  could  make  a  Sunday  school 
teacher  act  in  such  a  perverse  manner.  He  could  not  un- 
derstand how  it  was  that  Celie  Tennant,  who  upon  occa- 
sion would  weep  over  the  crushing  of  a  fly,  and  who  was  all 
the  time  worrying  her  life  out  over  these  young  rascals  of 
hers,  could  yet  take  pleasure  in  tormenting  a  fellow-crea- 
ture, and  making  his  very  existence  a  burden  to  him. 

But  when  he  came  to  think  of  it  afterwards,  he  had 
to  confess  that  on  the  whole  he  rather  liked  it.  In  fact, 
that  he  would  rather  be  made  unhappy  by  Celie  Tennant 
than  that  anyone  else  should  give  him  the  happiness  of 
Paradise.  He  was  a  rankly  foolish  young  man,  and  he 
would  have  hugged  his  follies  if  this  particular  one  would 
have  permitted  him. 

The  present  chronicler  has,  be  it  understood,  under- 
taken to  relate  the  adventures  of  Cleg's  companions  as 
well  as  those  which  immediately  concern  the  hero.  But 
these  adventures  of  Cleaver's  boy  and  his  Janet  of  Inver- 
ness were  not  without  direct  bearing  upon  the  fates  of 
Cleg  and  of  his  lost  friends  the  Kavannahs.  For  it  so 
happened  that  Duncan  Urquhart,  the  uncle  of  Janet  of 
Inverness,  came  one  night  to  see  her  in  the  kitchen  of 
Bailie  Holden.  The  cook  was  pleased  with  him,  for  he 
was  a  single  man  and  well  bearded  ;  in  fact,  the  very  kind  , 
of  man  whom  all  cooks  adore.  Housemaids,  on  the  other 
hand,  like  clean-shaven  or  moustached  men,  and  as  a  rule 
prefer  to  catch  them  younger.  And  this  is  the  reason 
why  cooks    marry  gardeners    while   housemaids  marry 


174:  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY, 

coachmen.  While  nurses,  having  had  enough  of  children, 
live  to  a  good  old  age  in  picturesque  cottages,  with  assured 
pensions  and  uncertain  tempers,  eventually  dying  old 
maids.     At  least,  so  sayeth  the  philosopher. 

Duncan  Urquhart  was  not  the  chief  of  a  clan.  He 
was  an  engine-driver  in  the  goods  department  of  the 
Greenock  and  South-Eastern  Eailway.  In  the  course  of 
conversation  the  engine-driver,  chiefly  for  the  sake  of  the 
applause  of  the  cook,  cast  about  him  for  moving  tales  of 
the  iron  road  on  which  his  working  hours  were  passed. 
He  had  settled  in  his  mind  that  the  cook  was  a  wonderful 
woman.  She  could,  to  his  certain  knowledge,  watch  a 
roast,  turn  an  omelette,  taste  a  soup,  and  cast  a  languish- 
ing glance  over  her  shoulder  at  him,  all  at  the  same  time. 
He  could  not  help  thinking  how  excellent  a  thing  it  would 
be  to  come  home  after  a  grimy  run  on  the  footplate. 
And  then,  having  washed,  sit  down  in  his  own  house  to 
the  soup,  the  omelette,  and  the  joint,  with  (so  little  did 
he  know)  as  many  of  the  languishing  glances  as  he  could 
wish  for,  thrown  in  as  a  permanent  asset  of  his  home. 
So  overcome  was  he  by  the  idea,  that  for  the  moment  he 
forgot  that  matters  had  proceeded  even  further  with 
another  cook  in  the  town  of  Netherby,  which  formed  his 
alternate  stopping-place.  It  was  a  pity,  he  sometimes 
thought  (for  an  instant  only),  that  the  laws  of  his  country 
did  not  permit  two  such  homes  to  be  set  up,  one  at  either 
end  of  his  daily  journey ings. 

Now,  as  one  good  effect  of  Duncan  Urquhart's  visit  to 
the  kitchen  of  Bailie  Holden,  the  position  of  Janet  of 
Inverness  as  kitchenmaid  was  made  a  far  more  tolerable 
one.  It  is  a  thing  strongly  advisable,  that  if  the  junior 
domestics  of  a  house  have  presentable  brothers  or  even 
uncles,  unmarried  and  eligible,  they  should  make  haste  to 
produce  them.    Janet  of  Inverness  quite  understood  this. 


THE  ENGINE-DRIVER  WITH  THE  BEARD.      175 

She  knew,  indeed,  that  Duncan  was  to  marry  his  cousin 
Mary  in  the  Black  Isle.  But  she  was  far  too  wise  a  little 
girl  to  say  anything  about  a  family  arrangement  like  that. 
And  then  the  cook  always  allowed  her  to  walk  in  pleas- 
anter  places  for  several  days  after  the  visits  of  her 
Uncle  Duncan,  who,  as  has  been  said,  was  a  handsome 
man  with  a  beard,  and  in  habit  very  well  put  on  and 
desirable. 

But  it  is  with  Duncan's  story  that  we  have  to  do. 
Duncan  had  the  English  of  Inverness  crossed  with  the 
dialect  peculiar  to  the  Greenock  and  South-Eastern — a 
line  whose  engines  are  apple-green  and  gold,  but  the 
speech  of  whose  engineers  is  blue,  with  purple  patches. 
Not  that  Duncan  swore  before  ladies,  though  Bailie  Hol- 
den's  cook  would  have  forgiven  him  because  of  his  beard. 
It  was  indeed  a  habit  she  was  rather  partial  to,  thinking 
it  a  mighty  offset  to  the  conversation  of  bearded  men. 
There  was  no  denying  that  Duncan's  speech  was  pic- 
turesque. But  Cleg  could  not  help  feeling  that  swearing 
of  Duncan's  sort  was  altogether  roundabout  and  unmanly. 
For  himself,  when  he  had  need  and  occasion,  he  simply 
said  "Dam"  and  had  done  with  it.  Anything  more 
savoured  of  superfluity  to  a  boy  of  his  simple  tastes. 

Duncan  the  engine-driver  was  talking  about  feats  of 
strength. 

"  In  my  young  days,"  he  said,  "  I  could  toss  the  caber 
with  any  man.  The  Black  Deil  0'  Dumfries  tak'  me,  gin 
I  couldna  send  a  young  tree  birlin'  through  the  air  as  if 
it  had  been  a  bit  spale  board.  But  ye  should  see  Muckle 
Alick  doon  at  Netherby  Junction,  where  I  pit  up  for  the 
nicht.  He's  the  porter  there  on  the  passenger  side.  An' 
the  mid  steeple  is  no  better  kenned  for  twenty  miles 
round  Netherby.  Hands  like  the  Day  0'  Judgment  comin' 
in  a  thunder-cloud — heart  like  a  wee  white-faced  lammie 


176  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

on  the  braes  o'  the  Black  Isle — that's  Muckle  Alick  o' 
Netherby. 

"  As  braid  across  the  breast  as  if  he  was  the  gable  end 
o'  a  bakehoose  coming  linkin'  doon  the  street  its  lane. 
Lord  bless  me,  when  the  big  storm  blew  doon  the  distant 
signals  last  spring,  I  declare  gin  Muckle  Alick  didna  juist 
stand  on  the  railway  brig  that  sits  end  on  to  the  Market 
Hill,  and  signal  in  the  trains  wi'  airms  like  the  cross  trees 
o'  a  man-o'-war ! 

"  I  declare  to  conscience  it's  a  Guid's  truth ! 

"  Aye,  an'  when  that  puir  trembling  chicken-hearted 
crowl,  Tam  Mac  Wheeble,  that  drives  the  Port  Andrew 
passenger,  stood  still,  wi'  the  bull's-eyes  o'  his  wee  blue 
engine  juist  looking  round  the  corner,  an'  whistled  and 
yelled  for  the  proper  signal,  pretendin'  that  he  didna  see 
Muckle  Alick  (him  belongin'  to  anither  kirk),  Alick  cried 
doon  at  him  off  the  brig,  so  that  they  could  hear  him  half 
a  mile, '  Ye  donnert  U.  P.,  come  on  wi'  your  auld  steam- 
roller an'  your  ill-faured  cargo  o'  Irish  drovers,  or  I'll 
come  doon  an'  harl  ye  a'  in  mysel' ! ' 

"  Fac'  as  daith  !  I  was  there,  talkin'  to  a  nice  bit  lass 
that  stands  in  the  Kefresh' ! 

"  You  weakly  toon-bred  loons  "  (here  Duncan  Urquhart 
looked  at  Cleg  and  Cleaver's  boy)  "  thinks  me  a  strong 
man.  But  Alick,  though  his  shooders  are  gettin'  a  wee 
bowed  and  his  craw-black  hair  is  noo  but  a  birse  o'  grey, 
could  tak'  half-a-dozen  like  me  and  daud  our  heads  the- 
gither  till  we  couldna  speak.  True  as  the  '  Eeason  An- 
nexed '  to  the  Third  Commandment !  I  hae  seen  him  wi' 
thae  een  that's  in  my  head  the  noo  ! " 

"  Tell  us  mair,"  said  Cleg,  standing  with  his  mouth 
open,  for  the  relation  of  feats  of  strength  is  every  un- 
learned man's  "  Iliad."  So  Duncan  went  on  to  tell 
mighty  things  of  the  wrath  of  Muckle  Alick. 


MUCKLE  ALICE'S  BANNOCKBURN.  177 

"  But,  lads,  ye  maun  ken  Alick  is  no  a  ramblin'  wastrel 
like  the  rest  o'  us.  He's  an  elder  amang  the  Cameronians. 
Haith !  a  weel-learned  man  is  Alick,  an'  guid  company 
for  a  minister — or  ony  other  man.  And  never  an  ill 
word  oot  0'  the  mouth  0'  him.  Na,  no  even  when  yince 
there  was  twa  trains  at  different  platforms,  an'  the  station- 
maister  cried  to  Alick  to  tak'  the  tickets  frae  baith  0' 
them  at  the  same  time.  '  Juist  tak'  the  Port  Eoad  train 
yoursel',  gin  ye  are  in  sic  a  fidge ! '  quoth  Alick.  An'  it 
was  the  station-maister  that  swore — Alick  was  even  mair 
pleased-like  than  usual. 

"But  nae  man  ever  saw  Muckle  Alick  angry.  The 
ill-set  callants  o'  the  Clearin'  Hoose  tries  whiles  to  pro- 
voke him.  Alick,  he  says  little — only  looks  at  them  like 
a  big  sleepy  dog  when  the  pups  are  yelping.  Then  after 
a  while  he  says,  '  Ye  are  like  Tam  Purdy's  cat,  when  it 
ate  the  herrin'  he  had  for  his  breakfast  the  time  he  was 
askin'  the  blessin',  ye  are  "  gettin'  raither  pet ! "  ' 

"  And  then,  if  they  winna  take  a  telling,  Alick  will 
grip  them  in  his  loofs,  gie  them  a  shake  and  a  daud 
thegither  as  if  he  was  knockin'  the  stour  aff  a  couple  o' 
books,  syne  stick  their  heads  in  a  couple  0'  bags  o'  Indian 
meal,  an'  leave  them  wi'  their  heels  in  the  air.  But  Alick 
is  never  oot  0'  temper.  And  ceevil — fresh  kirned  butter 
is  no  sweeter  at  eighteenpence  a  pund ! " 


ADVENTUEE  XXIX. 

MUCKLE  Alice's  ba:n"nockbuk:n". 

"But  what  was  I  gaun  to  tell  ye?    Oh,  aboot  the 
Irish  drovers.     Ye  maun  ken  they  are  no  a  very  weel- 


178  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

liked  class  doon  aboot  Netherby.  For  they  come  in 
squads  to  the  Market  Hill  on  Mondays,  and  whiles  their 
tongues  and  their  sticks  are  no  canny.  Though  some, 
I'm  no  denyin',  are  ceevil  chiels.  But  them  that  I'm 
gaun  to  tell  ye  aboot  were  no  that  kind. 

"  It  was  the  middle  o'  the  day  and  Alick  was  away  for 
his  denner.  There  had  been  a  bad  market  that  day. 
Baith  the  marts  were  through  hours  afore  their  usual. 
So  the  drovers  swarmed  up  to  the  station  to  get  the  after- 
noon train  for  Port  Andrew.  And  on  the  platform  the 
drinkin'  frae  bottles  an'  the  swearin'  was  fair  extraordi- 
nar' !  So  I  am  telled.  Then,  when  the  train  cam'  in, 
there  was  eight  or  nine  o'  the  warst  o'  them  that  wadna 
be  served  but  they  maun  a'  get  into  a  first-class  compart- 
ment.    And  oot  o'  that  they  wadna  get ! 

"The  station-maister  was  a  young  man  then  and 
newly  gotten  on.  He  thocht  a  heap  o'  himsel' — as  a 
young  station-maister  aye  does  when  he  first  gets  on  the 
stemmed  bonnet,  and  comes  oot  frae  the  office  like  Lord 
Almichty  wi'  a  pen  ahint  his  lug. 

"  Weel,  at  ony  rate,  the  Netherby  station-maister  was 
that  kind.  An'  he  was  determined  that  naebody  should 
cross  him  in  his  ain  station. 

" '  I'll  juist  lock  them  in  and  let  them  fecht  it  oot,' 
said  the  guard,  '  and  by  the  time  we  are  through  the  big 
cutting  at  the  Stroan  they'll  hae  shuggled  doon  as  quaite 
as  a  session.' 

"It  was  doubtless  good  advice.  But  the  station- 
maister  was  mainly  angered.  He  gaed  to  the  door  o'  the 
compartment  and  threatened  the  drovers  wi'  the  law. 
And  they  juist  pelted  him  wi'  auld  sodjers  and  ill  talk. 
Then  he  cried  for  a'  the  porters  and  clerks,  till  there  was 
a  knot  o'  ten  or  a  dozen  o'  them  aboot  the  door — and  a' 
the  folk  in  the  train  wi'  their  heads  oot  o'  the  windows, 


MUCKLE  ALICE'S  BANNOCKBURN.  179 

askin'  what  on  earth  (an'  ither  places)  was  keepin'  the 
train.  And  doon  the  main  line  the  express  was  fair 
whustling  blue-fire  and  vengeance  because  the  signals 
were  against  her.  But  nae  farther  could  they  get.  The 
station-maister  he  was  determined  to  hae  the  drovers  oot. 
And  they  were  as  set  no  to  come — being  gye  and  weel 
filled  wi'  the  weedow's  cheapest  market  whusky  that  she 
keepit  special  for  the  drovers,  for  faith  it  wad  hae  scun- 
nert  a  decent  Heelant  sow !  I  tried  it  yince  and  was  I 
the  waur  o't  for  a  fortnicht.  But  ony  whusky  is  guid 
enough  for  an  Irishman,  if  only  ye  stir  plenty  o'  soot 
amang  it !  They  think  they're  hame  again  if  they  get 
that. 

"So  here  the  hale  traffic  0'  Netherby  Junction  was 
stelled  for  maybe  a  quarter  0'  an  hour,  and  the  station- 
maister  was  nearly  daft  to  think  what  he  wad  hae  to  enter 
on  his  detention  sheet.  A'  at  ance  somebody  cries,  '  Here's 
Muckle  Alick  coming  up  the  street.'  And  sure  enough 
there  he  was,  coming  alang  by  the  hill  dyke  wi'  his  hands 
in  his  pooches.  For  ye  see  this  wasna  his  train,  and  he 
had  ten  minutes  to  spare.  So  wi'  that  the  station-maister 
and  the  guaird  and  half-a-dozen  lads  frae  the  offices  rins 
to  the  far  side  0'  the  platform,  waving  on  Alick  and  cry- 
ing on  him  to  come  on.  Alick  he  juist  looks  aboot  to 
see  wha  was  late  for  the  train.  But  no'  seein'  onybody 
he  steps  leisurely  alang,  drawin'  on  his  weel-gaun  pipe, 
proud-like  as  ye  hae  seen  an  elephant  at  the  head  o'  a 
show. 

"  And  the  mair  they  cried  and  waved,  the  mair  Alick 
looked  aboot  him  for  the  man  that  was  late  for  the  train. 

" '  It  maun  be  the  provost  at  the  least,  wi'  a'  this  fuss,' 
said  he  to  himself;  'he'll  be  gaun  to  Loch  Skerrow  to 
fishl' 

"At  last  a  wee  upsettin'  booking-clerk,  the  size  o' 


180  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

twa  scrubbers,  cam  rinning  and  telled  Alick  a'  aboot  the 
drovers  and  the  state  the  station-maister  was  in. 

" '  I'm  no  on  duty  at  this  train,'  says  Alick, '  but  I'll 
come  and  speak  to  them.' 

"  So  they  made  way  for  him,  and  Alick  gaed  through 
the  crowd  at  the  platform  like  a  liner  through  the  her- 
ring-fleet below  the  Tail  o'  the  Bank. 

" '  Lads,'  says  he  to  the  drovers,  '  what's  this  ? — what's 
this?' 

"Then  they  mocked  and  jeered  at  him.  For  it  so 
happened  that  nane  o'  them  had  been  often  at  Netherby 
Market,  and  so  no  a  man  o'  them  was  acquaint  wi'  Muckle 
Alick.  Providence  was  no  kind  to  the  Paddies  that  time 
whatever. 

" '  Boys,'  says  Alick,  as  canny  as  if  he  had  been  court- 
in'  his  lass,  '  this  wull  never  do  ava',  boys.  It's  no  nice 
conduck !  It's  clean  ridiculous,  ye  ken.  Ye'll  hae  to 
come  oot  o'  that,  boys  ! ' 

"  But  they  were  fair  demented  wi'  drink  and  prideful- 
ness  at  keepin'  the  train  waitin',  and  so  they  miscaa'ed 
Alick  for  a  muckle  nowt-beast  on  stilts.  And  yin  o'  them 
let  on  to  be  an  auctioneer,  and  set  Alick  up  for  sale. 

"'Hoo  muckle  for  this  great  lumbering  Galloway 
stirk  ? '  says  he. 

" '  Thrip ! '  says  another, '  and  dear  at  the  money.' 

" '  Boys,'  says  Alick  again,  like  a  mither  soothin'  her 
weans  when  she  hears  the  guidman's  fit,  '  boys,  ye'll  hae 
to  come  oot ! ' 

"  But  they  only  swore  the  waur  at  him. 

"' Aweel,'  says  Alick,  'mind  I  hae  warned  ye,  boys ' 

"  And  he  made  for  the  carriage-door  in  the  face  o'  a 
yell  like  a'  Donnybrook  broken  lowse.  Then  what  hap- 
pened after  that  it  is  no'  juist  easy  to  tell.  Alick  gaed 
oot  o'  sicht  into  the  compartment,  fillin'  the  door  frae  tap 


HOW  GRIERSON'S  ENGINE  BROKE  ITS  BUFFER.  181 

to  bottom.  There  was  a  wee  bit  buzzing  like  a  bee-skep 
when  a  wasp  gets  in.  Then  presently  oot  o'  the  door  o' 
the  first-class  carriage  there  comes  a  hand  like  the  hand 
o'  Providence,  and  draps  a  kickin'  drover  on  the  platform, 
sprawlin'  on  his  wame  like  a  paddock.  Then,  afore  he 
can  gather  himsel'  thegither,  oot  flees  anither  and  faa's 
richt  across  him — and  so  on  till  there  was  a  decent  pile  o' 
Irish  drovers,  a'  neatly  stacked  cross-and-across  like  sawn 
wood  in  a  joiner's  yaird.  Certes,  it  was  bonny  to  see  thera ! 
They  were  a'  cairded  through  yin  anither,  and  a'  crawling 
and  grippin'  and  fechtin'  like  crabs  in  a  basket.  It  was  a 
heartsome  sicht! 

"  Then,  after  the  hindermost  was  drappit  featly  on  the 
riggin',  oot  steps  Muckle  Alick — edgeways,  of  course,  for 
the  door  wasna  wide  aneuch  for  him  except  on  the  angle. 
He  was,  if  onything,  mair  calm  and  collected  than  usual. 
Muckle  Alick  wasna  angry.  He  juist  clicked  his  square 
key  in  the  lock  o'  the  door  and  stood  lookin'  doon  at  the 
crawlin'  pile  o'  drovers.  Folk  says  he  gied  a  bit  smile,  but 
I  didna  see  him. 

"*Ye  see,  boys,  ye  had  to  come  oot!'  said  Muckle 
Alick." 


ADVEI^TURE  XXX. 

HOW   GEOKDIE   GRIERSON's    EJ^-GINE    BROKE   ITS   BUFFER. 

"  Hoo-R-RAY ! "  shouted  Cleg  Kelly  and  Cleaver's  boy 
together,  till  the  cook  and  little  Janet  of  Inverness  smiled 
at  their  enthusiasm. 

"  But  there's  mair,"  said  the  engine-driver. 

"  It  canna  be  better  than  that !  "  said  Cleg,  to  whom 
the  tale  was  good  as  new  potatoes  and  salt  butter. 


182  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  It's  better ! "  said  the  engine-driver,  who  knew  that 
nothing  holds  an  audience  and  sharpens  the  edge  of  its 
apj)etite  better  than  a  carefully  cultivated  expectancy. 

"  It  was  that  same  day  after  the  Port  Andrew  train 
got  away,  when  the  cowed  drovers  were  sent  to  the  land- 
ing-bank to  wait  for  their  cattle  train,  and  the  carriage 
that  was  coupled  on  to  it  for  their  transport.  The  driver 
o'  the  main  line  express  was  Geordie  Grierson,  an'  he  was 
no  well-pleased  man  to  be  kept  waitin'  twenty  minutes 
with  his  whistle  yellyhooin'  bluefire  a'  the  time.  He 
prided  himsel'  special  on  rinnin'  to  the  tick  o'  the  clock. 
So  as  soon  as  the  signal  dropped  to  clear  he  started  her 
raither  sharp,  and  she  cam'  into  the  station  under  a 
head  of  steam  some  deal  faster  than  he  had  intended.  Ye 
could  hae  heard  the  scraichin'  o'  the  auld  wood  brakes  a 
mile  an'  mair.  But  stop  her  they  could na.  And  juist  as 
Georgie  Grierson's  engine  was  turnin'  the  curve  to  come 
past  the  facing  points  to  the  platform,  what  should  we  see 
but  a  wee  bit  ragged  laddie,  carryin'  a  bairn,  coming  stag- 
gerin'  cross  the  metals  to  the  near  bank.  Every  single 
person  on  the  platform  cried  to  him  to  gang  back.  But 
the  laddie  couldna  see  Geordie's  engine  for  the  way  he  was 
carryin'  the  bairn,  and  maybe  the  noise  o'  the  folk  cryin' 
mazed  him.  So  there  he  stood  on  the  four-foot  way, 
richt  between  the  rails,  and  the  express-engine  fair 
on  him. 

"It  cam'  that  quick  our  mouths  were  hardly  shut 
after  crying  out,  and  our  hearts  had  nae  time  to  gang  on 
again,  before  Muckle  Alick,  wha  was  standin'  by  the  side 
o'  the  platform,  made  a  spang  for  the  bairns — as  far  as 
we  could  see,  richt  under  the  nose  o'  the  engine.  He 
gripped  them  baith  in  his  airms,  but  he  hadna  time  to 
loup  clear  o'  the  far  rail.  So  Muckle  Alick  juist  arched 
a  back  that  was  near  as  braid  as  the  front  of  the  engine 


f  T3,F^<J»AB.TY. 


''  He  gripped  them  baith,  but  he  hadna  time  to  loup  clear  o'  the 
far  rail," 


HOW  GRIERSON'S  ENGINE  BROKE  ITS  BUFFER.  183 

itsel',  and  he  gied  a  kind  o'  Jump  to  the  side.  The  far 
buffer  o'  the  engine  took  him  in  the  broad  o'  his  hinder- 
lands  and  whammeled  him  and  the  bairns  in  a  heap  ower 
on  the  grass  on  the  far  bank. 

"  Then  there  was  a  sough  amang  us  wi'  the  drawing  in 
o'  sae  mony  breaths,  for,  indeed,  we  never  looked  for  yin 
o'  them  ever  to  stir  again.  Geordie  Grierson  managed  to 
stop  his  train  after  it  had  passed  maybe  twenty  yairds. 
He  was  leanin'  oot  o'  the  engine  cubby  half  his  length  an' 
lookin'  back,  wi'  a  face  like  chalk,  at  Muckle  Alick  and 
the  weans  on  the  bank. 

"  But  what  was  oor  astonishment  to  see  him  rise  up 
wi'  the  bairns  baith  in  his  ae  arm,  and  gie  his  back  a  bit 
dust  wi'  the  back  o'  the  ither  as  if  he  had  been  dustin' 
flour  off  it. 

" '  Is  there  ocht  broken,  think  ye,  Geordie  ? '  Muckle 
Alick  cried  anxiously  to  the  engine-driver. 

" '  Guid  life,  Alick,  are  ye  no  killed  ? '  said  the  engine- 
driver.  And,  loupin'  frae  his  engine,  Geordie  ran  doon, 
if  ye  will  believe  it,  greeting  like  a  very  bairn.  And, 
'deed,  to  tell  the  truth,  so  was  the  maist  feck  o'  us. 

" '  Killed  ? '  says  Alick ;  '  weel,  no  that  I  ken  o' ! ' 

"And  he  stepped  across  the  rails  wi'  the  twa  weans 
laughin'  in  his  airms,  for  a'  bairns  are  fond  o'  Alick. 
And  says  he,  '  I  think  I'll  pit  them  in  the  left  luggage 
office  till  we  get  the  express  cleared.'  So  he  did  that, 
and  gied  them  his  big  turnip  watch  to  play  wi'.  And 
syne  he  took  the  luggage  over  and  cried  the  name  o'  the 
station,  as  if  he  had  done  nocht  that  day  forbye  eat  his 
denner. 

"Then  there  cam'  a  lassie  rinnin'  wi'  a  loaf  in  her 
airms,  and  lookin'  every  road  for  something. 

" '  Did  ye  see  twa  bairns  ?  Oh,  my  wee  Hugh,  what's 
come  to  ye?'  she  cried. 


184  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  *  Ye'll  find  them  in  the  luggage  office,  I'm  thinkin', 
lassie,'  says  Alick." 

And  here  the  engine-driver  of  the  goods  train  rose  to 
depart.     But  his  audience  would  not  permit  him. 

"And  what  cam'  o'  the  bairns?"  cried  Cleg,  white 
with  anxiety,  "and  what  was  their  names,  can  ye  tell 
me?" 

"JSTa,  I  never  heard  their  names,  if  they  had  ony," 
said  Duncan  Urquhart.  "  They  were  but  tinkler  weans, 
gaun  the  country.  But  Alick  could  tell  ye,  nae  doot. 
For  I  saw  him  gang  doon  the  street  wi'  the  wee  boy  in 
his  hand,  and  the  lass  carryin'  the  bairn.  An'  the  folk 
were  a'  rinnin'  oot  o'  their  doors  to  shake  hands  wi'  Alick, 
and  askin'  him  if  he  wasna  sair  hurt  ?  " 

" '  Na,'  says  he  ;  '  I'll  maybe  a  kennin'  stiff  for  a  day 
or  twa,  but  there's  nocht  serious  wrang — except  wi'  the 
spring  o'  the  engine  buffer !     That's  gye  sair  shauchelt ! ' 

"  And  guid  nicht  to  ye  a',  an'  a  guid  sleep.  That's  a' 
I  ken,"  said  Duncan  Urquhart  from  the  kitchen  door, 
where  he  was  saying  good-bye  to  the  cook  in  a  manner 
calculated  to  advance  materially  the  interests  of  his  niece, 
Janet  of  Inverness. 

"And  I'm  gaun  the  morn's  mornin'  to  see  Muckle 
Alick  ! "  cried  Cleg.  And  he  went  out  with  the  engine- 
driver. 


ADVENTUKE  XXXL 

THE   "AVTFU'   V^^OMAlSr." 

A  SORE  heart  had  Vara  Kavannah  as  she  sat  in  the 
hut  in  Callendar's  yard  the  night  her  mother  had  ap- 
peared at  the  gate  of  Hillside  Works. 


THE  "AWFU»  WOMAN."  185 

"  I  can  never  go  back  among  them — no,  never,  never ! " 
said  Vara  to  herself  again  and  again. 

And  already  she  saw  the  sidelong  glance,  the  sneering 
word  thrown  over  the  shoulder,  as  the  companions  from 
whom  she  had  held  herself  somewhat  aloof  reminded  her 
of  her  mother's  disgrace.  "  0  father,  father,  come  back 
to  us — come  back  to  us ! "  she  cried  over  and  over  again 
till  it  became  a  prayer. 

She  sat  with  her  hands  before  her  face  so  long  that 
little  Hugh  repeatedly  came  and  stirred  her  arm,  saying 
"  What  ails  sister  ?    Hugh  Boy  not  an  ill  boy ! " 

Vara  Kavannah's  thoughts  ran  steadily  on  Liverpool, 
to  which  her  father  had  gone  to  find  work.  She  remem- 
bered having  seen  trains  with  carriages  marked  "  Liver- 
pool "  starting  from  the  rickety  old  station  at  the  end  of 
Princes  Street.  She  knew  that  they  went  out  by  Mer- 
chiston  and  Calder.  That  must,  therefore,  be  the  way  to 
Liverpool.  Vara  did  not  remember  that  it  must  also  be 
the  way  to  a  great  many  other  places,  since  many  carriages 
with  other  superscriptions  passed  out  the  same  way. 

As  it  darkened  in  the  little  construction  hut.  Vara 
listlessly  rose  to  set  the  room  to  rights,  and  to  give  the 
baby  its  bottle.  Nothing  now  seemed  any  use,  since  her 
mother  had  come  back  into  her  life.  Yet  Vara  did  not 
cry,  for  that  also  was  no  use.  She  had  lost  her  place  at  the 
works,  or  at  least  she  could  never  go  back  any  more.  Her 
world  was  at  an  end. 

Hugh  Boy  still  lingered  outside,  though  it  was  grow- 
ing latish,  and  the  swallows  that  darted  in  and  out  of  the 
stacked  rafters  and  piled  squares  of  boards  began  one  by 
one  to  disappear  from  the  vaulted  sky.  Hugh  was  busy 
watering  the  plants,  as  he  had  seen  Cleg  do.  And  he 
kept  one  hand  in  his  pocket  and  tried  to  whistle  as  like 

his  model  as  possible.     Vara  was  just  laying  the  babv  in 
13 


186  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

its  cot  when  she  heard  a  scream  of  pain  from  Hugh  at  the 
door. 

"  Mercy  me  I "  she  said,  "  has  the  laddie  tumbled  and 
hurthimsel'?" 

She  flew  to  the  open  door,  which  was  now  no  more 
than  a  dusky  oblong  of  blue-grey.  A  pair  of  dark  shapes 
stood  in  front  of  her.  Little  Hugh  lay  wailing  on  the 
ground.  A  hard  clenched  hand  struck  Vara  on  the 
mouth,  as  she  held  up  her  hands  to  shield  the  baby  she 
had  carried  with  her  in  her  haste,  and  a  harsh  thick  voice 
screamed  accumulated  curses  at  her. 

"  I  hae  gotten  ye  at  last,  ye  scum,  you  that  sets  your- 
self up  to  be  somebody.  You  that  dresses  in  a  hat  and 
feather,  devil  sweep  ye!  Come  your  ways  in,  lad,  and 
we  will  soon  take  the  pride  out  of  the  likes  o'  her,  the 
besom ! " 

The  man  hung  back  and  seemed  loth  to  have  part  in 
the  shame.  But  Sal  Kavannah  seized  him  by  the  hand 
and  dragged  him  forward. 

"  This  is  your  new  f aither.  Vara,"  she  said ;  "  look  at 
him.  He  is  a  bonny-like  man  beside  your  poor  waif  was- 
trel runnagate  f aither,  Sheemus  Kavannah !  '* 

The  man  of  whom  Sal  Kavannah  spoke  was  a  burly 
low-browed  ruffian,  with  the  furtive  glance  of  one  who 
has  never  known  what  it  is  to  have  nothing  to  conceal. 

But  Vara  thought  he  did  not  look  wholly  bad. 

"Come  in,  mother !"  she  said  at  last  in  a  low  voice. 
Then  she  went  out  to  seek  for  Boy  Hugh,  who  had  run 
into  the  dark  of  the  yard  and  darned  himself  safely 
among  the  innumerable  piles  of  wood,  which  stood  at 
all  angles  and  elevations  in  Callendar's  wide  quad- 
rangle. 

"Hugh!  Boy  Hugh!"  she  cried.  And  for  a  long 
time  she  called  in  vain.    At  last  a  low  and  fearful  voice 


THE  "AWFU'  WOMAN."  187 

answered  her  from  a  dark  corner,  in  which  lay  the  salvage 
of  a  torn-down  house. 

"  Is  she  gane  away  ?  "  said  the  Boy  Hugh. 

"  IN'o,  but  ye  are  to  come  hame,"  said  Vara,  holding 
the  babe  closer  to  her  bosom. 

"  Then  Hugh  Boy  is  no  comin'  hame  the  nicht  till  the 
'  awfu'  woman '  is  gane  away  ! "  said  the  lad,  determinedly. 

"  Come,  boy,  come,"  she  said  again ;  "  my  heart  is  wae 
for  us  a'.     But  come  wi'  your  Vara ! " 

"  Na,  Hugh  Boy  is  no  comin'.  Ye  will  hae  to  hist 
me  oot  wi'  big  dogs  afore  I  will  come  hame  to  the  '  awfu' 
woman,' "  said  Hugh  Boy,  who  was  mightily  set  when  his 
mind  was  made  up. 

So  Vara  had  perforce  to  drag  her  feet  back  to  the  hor- 
rors which  aw^aited  her  within  the  construction  hut.  The 
man  and  her  mother  had  been  pledging  one  another  when 
she  entered.  A  couple  of  black  bottles  stood  between 
them,  and  Sal  Kavannah  looked  up  at  her  daughter  with 
a  fleering  laugh. 

"  Aye,  here  she  comes  that  sets  up  for  being  better 
than  your  mother!  But  we'll  show  you  before  we  are 
through  with  you,  my  man  and  me,  you " 

However,  it  does  not  enter  into  the  purpose  of  this  tale 
to  blacken  a  page  with  the  foul  excrement  of  a  devilish 
woman's  hate  of  her  own  child.  The  Scripture  holdeth — 
the  mother  may  forget.  She  may  indeed  have  no  com- 
passion on  the  child  of  her  womb.  And  Vara  Kavannah 
sat  still  and  listened,  till  the  burning  shame  dulled  to  a 
steady  throbbing  ache  somewhere  within  her.  The  wom- 
an's threats  of  future  torture  and  outrage  passed  idly 
over  her,  meaningless  and  empty.  The  man  drank  stead- 
ily, and  grew  ever  silenter  and  more  sullen;  for,  to  his 
credit  be  it  said,  the  situation  was  not  to  his  taste,  and  he 
looked  but  seldom  at  Vara.     The  girl  sat  clasping  the 


188  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

babe  to  her  bosom  with  a  secret  sense  that  in  little  Gavin 
she  had  her  best  and  indeed  her  only  protector.  For  even 
the  very  bad  man  in  his  senses  will  hardly  hurt  an  infant 
— though  a  bad  woman  will,  as  we  may  read  in  the  records 
of  our  police  courts. 

So  Vara  sat  till  the  man  reeled  to  the  door,  carrying 
the  unfinished  bottle  with  him,  and  Sal  Kavannah,  her 
orgie  logically  completed,  sank  in  a  foetid  heap  on  the 
floor  with  the  empty  one  beside  her. 

The  man  as  he  stumbled  out  left  the  door  open,  and 
in  a  little  while  Vara  could  hear  Boy  Hugh's  plaintive 
voice,  asking  from  the  wood-pile  in  the  corner  whether 
the  "  awf u'  woman  "  was  gone  yet. 

As  Vara  sat  and  listened  all  through  the  short  hours 
of  that  midsummer  night  to  the  clocks  of  the  city 
churches,  the  stertorous  breathing  of  her  mother  and  the 
babe's  occasional  feeble  wail  were  the  only  sounds  within 
the  hut  itself.  But  Boy  Hugh's  plaint  detached  itself  fit- 
fully from  the  uneasy  hum  of  the  midnight  city  without. 
A  resolve,  new-born  indeed,  but  seemingly  old  and  deter- 
minate as  the  decrees  of  the  God  she  had  learned  about  in 
the  Catechism,  took  hold  upon  her. 

It  seemed  to  Vara  that  it  did  not  matter  if  she  died — 
it  did  not  even  matter  whether  Hugh  and  Gavin  died,  if 
only  she  could  find  her  father,  and  die  far  away  from  her 
mother  and  all  this  misery. 

The  girl  was  so  driven  to  the  last  extremity  by  the 
trials  of  the  day  and  the  terrors  of  the  night  that  she  rose 
and  put  on  her  hat  as  calmly  as  though  she  had  been  go- 
ing for  a  walk  with  Cleg  and  the  children  across  the  park. 
As  calmly  also  she  made  her  preparations,  stepping  care- 
fully to  and  fro  across  her  mother  on  the  floor.  She  put 
all  the  scraps  of  bread  that  were  left  from  Cleg's  windfall 
into  her  pocket,  together  with  the  baby's  feeding  bottle 


THE  "AWFU'  WOMAN."  189 

and  a  spare  tube.  Then  she  added  Hugli's  whistle  and  a 
certain  precious  whip  with  a  short  bone  handle  and  a  long 
lash,  which  Cleg  had  given  him.  Vara  was  sure  that 
Hugh  Boy  would  cry  for  these,  and  want  to  go  back  if 
she  did  not  take  them  with  her.  She  had  nothing  of  her 
own  to  take,  except  the  indiarubber  umbrella  ring  which 
Cleg  Kelly  had  given  her.  So  she  took  that,  though  she 
had  never  possessed  an  umbrella  in  her  life.  Groping  in 
Gavin's  crib,  she  found  her  shawl,  and  wrapped  it  about 
her  with  a  knowing  twist.  Then  she  deftly  took  up  the 
baby.  The  shawl  went  over  her  left  shoulder  and  was 
caught  about  her  waist  at  the  right  side,  in  a  way  which 
all  nurses  and  mothers  knov/,  but  which  no  man  can  ever 
hope  to  describe.  The  babe  was  still  asleep,  and  Yara's 
tender  touch  did  not  awake  it  as  she  stepped  out  into  the 
night  to  walk  to  Liverpool  to  find  her  father. 

But  as  a  first  step  she  must  find  Boy  Hugh.  And  that 
young  man  was  exceedingly  shy.  He  had  got  it  in  his 
obstinate  little  head  that  his  sister  wished  to  drag  him 
back  to  the  "  awfu'  woman."  It  was  not,  therefore,  till 
Vara  had  managed  to  persuade  him  in  the  most  solemn 
way  that  she  had  no  intention  of  ever  going  back  that  he 
consented  to  accompany  her  upon  her  desperate  quest. 

At  last  Boy  Hugh  took  her  hand  and  the  three  bairns 
left  Callendar's  yard  behind  them  for  ever.  What  hap- 
pened there  that  night  after  they  left  we  already  know. 
It  is  with  the  children's  wanderings  that  we  now  have 
to  do. 


190  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

ADVENTURE  XXXIL 

MAID   GREATHEAET   Aiq^D   HER   PILGRIMS. 

It  was  grey  day  when  the  children  fared  forth  from 
the  city.  Vara's  chief  anxiety  was  lest  they  should  not 
be  able  to  escape  out  of  the  town  before  the  light  came,  so 
that  some  officious  neighbour  might  be  able  to  direct  her 
enemy  upon  their  track.  It  was  not  long  before  they 
emerged  out  of  the  side-alleys  on  a  broad  paved  street 
which  led  towards  the  south. 

Vara  paused  and  asked  a  policeman  if  this  was  the  way 
to  Liberton. 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  at  Liberton  so  early  in 
the  morning?"  said  the  policeman.  He  asked  because 
he  was  a  Lothian  man,  who  always  puts  a  second  question 
before  he  can  bring  himself  to  answer  the  first. 

"  We  are  gaun  to  see  our  faither,"  said  Vara,  speaking 
the  truth. 

"Weel,"  said  the  policeman,  "that  is  the  road  to 
Liberton.  But  if  I  was  you  I  would  wait  till  the  milk- 
cairts  were  drivin'  hame.  Then  I  could  get  ye  a  lift  to 
Liberton  fine." 

He  was  a  kind-hearted  "  poliss,"  and  in  fact  the  same 
officer  who  had  looked  over  the  screen  by  the  watch-shelter 
behind  which  Tyke  was  spinning  his  yarns  to  Cleg  Kelly. 

So  that — thus  strange  is  the  working  of  events  when 
they  take  the  reins  into  their  own  hands — at  the  very 
moment  when  Cleg  Kelly  was  sleeplessly  turning  over  in 
his  mind  the  problem  of  the  life-fate  of  Vara  and  the 
children  by  the  dying  fire  at  the  Grange  crossing.  Vara 
herself  with  the  baby  on  her  arm  was  trudging  down  the 
pavement  opposite.     As  she  passed  she  looked  across,  and 


MAID  GREATHEART  AND  HER  PILGRIMS.      191 

only  the  timbered  edge  of  the  shelter  prevented  her  from 
seeing  Cleg  Kelly. 

Thus,  without  the  least  hindrance  or  observation,  the 
three  children  escaped  out  of  their  thrice-heated  fiery  fur- 
nace into  the  cool  of  the  country  hedges  and  upon  the 
clean  hard  surface  of  the  upland  roads. 

With  the  inevitable  instinct  of  hunted  things  Vara 
turned  aside  whenever  she  heard  the  brisk  clapper  of  the 
hoofs  of  a  milk-cart,  or  the  slower  rumble  of  a  market 
waggon.  For  she  knew  that  it  was  of  such  early  comers 
into  the  city  that  questions  would  be  asked.  So,  when 
Cleg  set  about  his  inquisition,  he  was  foiled  by  the  very 
forethought  which  had  only  desired  to  defeat  an  enemy, 
not  to  mystify  a  friend. 

Thus  hour  by  hour  they  left  quiet,  kindly  red-tiled 
villages  behind,  set  in  heartsome  howes  and  upon  windy 
ridges.  And,  as  they  went  ever  forwards,  morning  broad- 
ened into  day ;  day  crept  dustily  forward  to  hot  noon ; 
noon  drowsed  into  afternoon  ;  with  the  scent  of  beanfields 
in  the  air,  dreamily  sweet.  Vara's  arm  that  held  the  baby 
grew  numb  and  dead.  Her  back  ached  acutely  from  the 
waist  downwards  as  though  it  would  break  in  two.  Some- 
times the  babe  wailed  for  food.  Little  Hugh  dragged 
leadenly  upon  her  other  hand,  and  whinged  on,  with  the 
wearisome  iteration  of  the  corncrake,  that  he  wished  to 
go  back  to  Callendar's  yard,  till  Vara  had  to  remind  him, 
because  nothing  else  would  stay  his  plaining,  of  the  "  aw- 
fu'  woman  "  waiting  for  him  there. 

Vara  did  not  rest  long  that  whole  day.  They  sat  down 
as  seldom  as  possible,  and  then  only  for  a  few  minutes. 
Vara  poured  a  little  of  the  water  from  a  wayside  spring 
upon  the  crumbs  that  were  left,  and  gave  them  to  little 
Gavin,  mixing  them  with  the  remaining  milk  in  his 
bottle.     Hugh  begged  incessantly  that  Vara  would  let  him 


192  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

take  off  his  boots  and  walk  barefoot.  But  his  sister  knew 
that  he  would  certainly  become  lame  in  a  mile  or  two. 
Yet  there  might  have  been  pleasure  in  it  too,  for  they  sat 
down  in  the  pleasantest  places  all  that  fine,  bough-tossing 
day.  The  shadows  were  sprinkled  on  the  grassy  hill- 
sides, like  a  patchwork  quilt  which  Vara  had  once  seen  in 
their  house  when  Hugh  was  very  little,  but  which  had 
long  ago  become  only  a  memory  and  a  lost  pawn-ticket. 

Never  before  had  the  children  seen  such  quaint  wood- 
land places — nooks  where  the  rabbits  tripped  and  darted, 
or  sat  on  the  bank  washing  faces  pathetically  innocent 
and  foolish.  Little  runnels  of  water  trickled  down  the 
gullies  of  the  banks  and  dived  under  the  road.  But  for 
Vara  there  was  no  enjoyment,  no  resting  all  that  day. 
They  soon  spent  their  store  of  food.  By  noon  Hugh  had 
eaten  all  the  cold  potatoes.  The  babe  had  taken,  at  first 
with  difficulty,  then,  under  the  pressure  of  hunger,  greedi- 
ly, the  thin  water  and  milk  with  the  crushed  crumbs  in  it 
which  Vara  had  made  at  the  brook-side.  So  that  also 
was  finished.  Hunger  began,  not  for  the  first  time,  to 
grip  them. 

But  they  could  not  rest  long.  In  a  little,  just  as  Hugh 
Boy  was  beginning  to  drop  asleep  and  lean  heavily  against 
Vara,  there  came  again  upon  her  without  warning  a  ter- 
rible fear.  She  looked  down  the  road  they  had  come, 
and  she  seemed  to  see  the  cruel  eyes  of  her  mother,  to 
hear  again  the  foul  threats  of  the  life  she  was  to  be  com- 
pelled to  lead  for  "  setting  herself  up  to  be  better  than  her 
mother,"  all  the  words  which  she  had  listened  to  during 
those  last  hours  of  terror  and  great  darkness  in  the  old 
construction  hut. 

So  Vara  shook  Hugh  awake,  stroking  his  cheeks  down 
gently  till  his  eyes  opened.  She  settled  the  shawl  over 
her  other  shoulder,  and  the  bairns  were  soon  on  their  way 


MAID  GREATHEART   AND   HER  PILGRIMS.      193 

again.  The  dusty  road  beneath  appeared  to  stream  mo- 
notonously between  their  feet,  and  so  weary  did  they  grow 
that  sometimes  they  seemed  to  be  only  standing  still. 
Sometimes,  on  the  contrary,  they  appeared  to  be  going 
forward  with  incredible  speed.  Vara  bore  the  aching  of 
her  carrying-arm  till  it  became  agony  unspeakable,  and 
the  weight  of  Gavin  dragged  on  her  very  brain.  Then, 
for  a  treat,  she  would  shift  him  to  the  other  arm,  and  for 
a  few  minutes  the  keen  twingeing  ache  deadened  to  a  dull 
ache,  as  the  tired  wrist  and  elbow  dropped  to  her  side. 
But  soon  in  the  other  arm  the  same  stounding  agony 
began. 

Still  the  children  fared  on,  spurred  forward  by  the 
fear  of  that  which  was  behind  them.  The  thought  and 
hope  of  their  father  had  greatly  died  out  of  Vara's  mind, 
though  not  altogether.  But  the  mighty  instinct  of  hiding 
from  days  and  nights  like  those  which  had  gone  over  her 
head  recently  drove  her  restlessly  forward.  Yet  she  began 
sadly  to  acknowledge  that,  though  she  might  be  able  to 
stumble  on  a  little  longer  that  night,  little  Hugh  could 
not  go  much  further.  He  began  to  lag  behind  at  every 
turn,  and  whenever  they  stopped  a  moment  he  fairly 
dropped  asleep  on  his  feet,  and  his  head  fell  flaccidly 
against  her  side. 

The  bells  of  a  little  town  on  the  slope  of  a  hill  were 
just  striking  six  and  the  mill-folk  were  streaming  home- 
ward, when  the  children  had  their  first  great  piece  of  luck. 
They  were  just  by  a  stone  watering- trough  at  the  curve  of 
a  long  brae,  when  a  smart  light  cart  with  yellow  wheels 
came  past.  It  was  driven  by  a  young  man,  who  sat,  look- 
ing very  bright  and  happy,  with  his  sweetheart  beside 
him.  As  the  pair  came  slowly  up  the  brae  they  had  been 
talking  about  the  children,  whom  they  could  see  dragging 
on  before  them  weary-foot,  sick  with  pain  and  weariness. 


194  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

Perhaps  the  young  man's  heart  was  touched.  Or  may- 
hap his  sweetheart  asked  him  to  give  them  a  penny,  and 
he  wished  to  show  his  generosity.  But  in  either  case 
certain  it  is  that  as  he  passed  up  the  hill  he  nodded 
brightly  back  to  the  children  and  threw  them  a  coin.  It 
rolled  on  its  edge  to  Vara's  feet,  who  stooped  and  picked 
it  up,  solacing  her  independent  soul  as  the  silver  lay  ap- 
parent in  her  hands  by  telling  herself  that  she  had  not 
asked  for  it.  Her  mother  had  found  all  her  savings  the 
night  before,  and  had  emptied  them  into  the  hand  of  her 
companion,  out  of  the  cup  in  which  they  had  stood  on  the 
shelf  which  served  for  the  mantelpiece  of  the  construction 
hut.  So  that  but  for  this  happy  young  man's  sixpence 
Vara  and  her  charges  were  absolutely  penniless. 


ADVENTURE  XXXIIL 

THE   BABES   IN   THE   HAYSTACK. 

But  even  Hugh  brightened  at  the  sight  of  the  silver, 
and  when  Vara  proposed  to  go  back  and  buy  something 
for  them  while  he  stayed  with  Gavin  and  gathered  him 
flowers  to  play  with,  the  lad  said  determinedly,  "  Hugh 
Boy  come  too ! " 

So  they  all  went  back  to  the  village.  They  stood  look- 
ing long  and  wistfully  into  the  shop-windows,  for  what 
to  buy  was  so  momentous  a  question  that  it  took  them 
some  time  to  decide.  At  last  Vara  made  up  her  mind 
to  have  twopence-worth  of  stale  bread  at  a  baker's.  She 
was  served  by  the  baker's  wife,  who,  seeing  the  girl's 
weary  look,  gave  her  a  fourpenny  loaf  of  yesterday's  bak- 
ing for  her  coppers,  together  with  some  salt  butter  in  a 


THE  BABES  IN  THE   HAYSTACK.  I95 

broad  cabbage  leaf  into  the  bargain.  Yara's  voice  broke 
as  she  thanked  the  woman,  who  had  many  bairns  of  her 
own,  and  knew  the  look  of  trouble  in  young  eyes.  Then 
at  another  shop  Vara  bought  a  pennyworth  of  cheese, 
which  (as  she  well  knew)  satisfies  hunger  better  than  any 
other  food.  Then  came  a  pennyworth  of  milk  for  the 
baby,  with  which  she  filled  his  bottle,  and  gave  what  was 
over  to  Hugh  Boy,  who  drank  it  out  of  the  shopkeejoer's 
measure. 

When  the  children  came  out,  Vara  took  Hugh  by  the 
hand,  and  they  marched  past  the  baker's  without  stopping. 
For  the  boy  had  set  his  love  upon  a  certain  gingerbread 
lion  with  a  pair  of  lack-lustre  eyes  of  currants,  and  as 
they  passed  the  baker's  shop  he  set  up  a  whining  whimper 
to  have  it.  But  his  sister  marched  him  swiftly  past  be- 
fore the  dews  in  his  eyes  had  time  to  fall.  The  baker's 
wife  had  come  to  the  door  to  look  after  them,  and  seeing 
Hugh  Boy's  backward- dragging  look,  she  sent  her  little 
girl  after  them  with  the  very  gingerbread  lion  of  Hugh's 
dreams.  Hugh  Boy  stood  speechless,  open-mouthed  with 
thankfulness.     The  little  girl  smiled  at  his  surprise. 

"  We  hae  lots  o'  them  at  our  house,"  she  said,  and 
hurried  back  to  her  mother. 

They  mounted  the  hill  once  more  and  sat  on  the  grassy 
bank  by  the  side  of  the  watering-trough,  into  which  a 
bright  runlet  of  water  fell,  and  in  which  little  stirring 
grains  of  sand  dimpled  and  danced. 

I^ever  was  anything  sweeter  than  the  flavour  of  yes- 
terday's bread,  except  the  gingerbread  lion,  from  which 
Hugh  had  already  picked  one  black  currant  eye,  leaving  a 
yellow  pitted  socket  which  leered  at  him  with  horrid  sug- 
gestiveness  of  stomach-ache.  But  hunger-ache  was  Hugh 
Boy's  sole  enteric  trouble,  so  that  the  suggestion  was  lost 
upon  him. 


196  CLEG   KELLY,  ARAB   OF  THE  CITY. 

The  water  of  the  hill  spring,  splashing  into  the  stone 
trough,  sounded  refreshing  beyond  expressing.  The  baby 
dreamed  over  his  bottle,  and  lay  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
clear  heavens  above — from  which,  if  all  tales  be  true,  he 
had  come  to  a  world  of  whose  kindness  he  had  had  so 
little  experience  since  his  arrival. 

For  the  first  time  that  day  Vara  took  a  bite  for  herself 
and  many  a  draught  of  the  dimpling  springwater,  whose 
untiring  crystal  rush  into  the  basin  it  was  so  pleasant  to 
watch.  Then  Vara  washed  Hugh's  feet  and  her  own  in 
the  overflow  of  the  trough,  just  at  the  place  where  the 
burn  ran  under  the  road.  On  Hugh  Boy's  feet  was  a 
painful  pink  flush,  but  no  blister  appeared.  On  her  own 
feet,  however,  there  were  two  or  three.  Vara  was  glad 
that  Hugh  was  fit  for  his  journey. 

They  started  again,  and,  with  the  refreshment  of  the 
food  and  the  rest,  they  managed  to  make  two  or  three 
miles  further  before  the  dark  fell.  But  soon  it  was  evi- 
dent that  the  three  wanderers  could  go  little  further  that 
night.  The  babe's  eyes  were  long  closed  with  sleep,  and 
poor  little  Hugh  could  only  keep  awake  and  stagger  on 
by  constantly  rubbing  his  knuckles  into  the  corners  of 
his  eyes. 

They  were  now  on  a  high  wild  moor,  and  there  was 
no  house  within  sight.  They  still  went  onward,  however, 
blindly  and  painfully.  The  roadsides  trailed  past  them 
black  and  indistinct  till  they  came  to  a  farmhouse.  They 
could  see  tall  buildings  against  the  skies  and  hear  the  lash 
of  an  unseen  mill-stream  over  a  wheel  into  a  pool.  A 
blackcap  sang  sweetly  down  in  some  reeds  by  the  mill- 
dam. 

Vara  did  not  dare  to  knock  at  the  door  of  the  house. 
She  was  just  about  to  go  into  the  farmyard  in  search  of  a 
shed  to  lie  down  in,  when  she  remembered  that  she  had 


THE  BABES  IN  THE  HAYSTACK.  197 

heard  from  Cleg  how  there  were  always  fierce  dogs  about 
every  farmhouse.  For  Hugh's  sake  she  could  not  risk  it. 
Instead  of  going  forward,  therefore,  she  groped  her  way 
with  one  hand  into  a  field  where  there  were  many  stacks 
of  hay  and  corn.  Vara  could  tell  by  the  rustling  as  her 
hand  passed  over  them.  Soon  she  came  to  a  great  stack 
in  a  kind  of  covered  shed,  which  stood  between  wooden 
posts  like  trees.  One  end  of  it  was  broken  down  and  cut 
into  platforms.  Vara  mounted  upon  one  with  the  baby, 
and  reached  down  a  hand  for  Boy  Hugh.  For  the  last 
few  miles,  indeed  ever  since  it  grew  dark,  Hugh  had  been 
more  than  half  asleep,  and  his  weariful  sobbing  had  worn 
down  to  a  little  clicking  catch  in  his  throat,  which  still 
recurred  at  intervals.  It  was  by  the  sound  that  Vara 
found  him.  She  leaned  over  as  far  as  she  dared,  and 
drew  him  up  beside  her.  He  was  asleep  in  her  arms  be- 
fore she  could  lay  him  down. 

Vara  thought  the  people  of  the  farm  would  not  be 
very  angry  in  the  morning  if  she  pulled  out  a  little  of  the 
hay. 

"  It  is  for  the  baby's  sake  ! "  she  said,  to  excuse  herself. 

So  she  scooped  out  of  the  higher  step  of  the  stack 
where  it  was  broadest  a  little  cave  among  the  hay,  and 
into  this  she  thrust  Boy  Hugh  gently,  putting  his  legs  in 
first  and  leaving  only  his  head  without.  Then  she  rolled 
the  babe  and  herself  in  the  shawl  and  crawled  in  beside 
him.  She  drew  the  hay  close  like  a  coverlet  about  them. 
She  listened  awhile  to  Hugh  Boy's  breathing,  which  still 
had  the  catch  of  bygone  tears  in  it.  She  kissed  Gavin, 
closed  her  eyes,  and  instantly  fell  asleep  herself.  Vara 
said  no  prayers.  But  the  incense  of  good  deeds  and  sweet- 
est essential  service  went  up  to  God  from  that  haystack. 


198  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

ADVENTURE  XXXIV. 

THAT   OF   MARY   BELL,   BYRE   LASS. 

The  morning  came  all  too  soon,  with  a  crowing  of 
cocks  and  the  clashing  hurrahs  of  the  rooks,  circling  np 
from  their  nesting  in  the  tall  trees.  But  the  tired  chil- 
dren slept  on.  The  life  of  the  farm  began  about  them, 
with  its  cheerful  sounds  of  clinking  head-chains  as  the 
cattle  came  in,  and  of  tinkling  harness  as  the  teams  went 
afield.  But  still  the  children  did  not  wake.  It  was  not 
till  Mary  Bell,  byre  lass,  came  to  get  an  armful  of  fodder 
from  the  stack  that  they  were  found. 

"Lord,  preserve  us!  what's  that?"  she  cried  when, 
with  her  knees  upon  the  step  of  the  stack,  she  saw  the 
children — Vara's  wearied  face  turned  to  the  babe,  and  the 
dew  damp  on  the  white  cheeks  of  Boy  Hugh. 

"  I  maun  fetch  the  mistress !  "  said  Mary  Bell. 

And  then  these  two  women  stood  and  marvelled  at  the 
children. 

"  Mary,"  said  the  mistress  of  the  farm, "  d'ye  mind  the 
text  last  Sabbath  ?  " 

Mary  Bell  looked  indignantly  at  her  emploj^er. 

"  How  do  ye  think  I  can  mind  texts  wi'  as  mony  calves 
to  feed  ?  "  she  asked,  like  one  of  whom  an  unfair  advan- 
tage is  taken. 

"  0  Mary ! "  said  her  mistress,  "  how  often  hae  I  telled 
you  no  to  set  your  mind  on  the  vainities  o'  this  wicked 
world?" 

"  An'  whatna  ane  do  ye  pay  me  for  ? — to  keep  mind  o' 
texts  or  to  feed  the  calves  ? "  asked  the  byre  lass,  perti- 
nently. 

"  Mary,"  said  the  other,  ignoring  the  argument,  "  the 


THAT  OF  MARY  BELL,  BYRE  LASS.  199 

text  was  this :  '  I  will  both  lay  me  down  and  sleep '— dod, 
but  I  declare  I  forget  the  rest  o't,"  she  concluded,  break- 
ing down  with  some  ignominy. 

"  In  the  land  o'  the  leal,"  suggested  Mary  Bell,  either 
wickedly  or  with  a  real  desire  to  help.  Her  superior 
promptly  accepted  the  emendation. 

"That's  it!"  she  said.  "Is  it  no  bonny  to  look  at 
thae  bairns  and  mind  the  text,  '  I  will  both  lay  me  down 
and  sleep,  in  the  land  o'  the  leal '  ?  " 

"  I'll  wauken  them,"  said  practical  Mary  Bell,  "  and 
bring  them  into  the  hoose  for  some  breakfast." 

"  Na,  na,"  said  her  mistress,  "  ye  maunna  do  that. 
What  wad  the  guidman  say  ?  Ye  ken  he  canna  be  doin' 
wi'  folk  that  gang  the  country.  A  wee  drap  o'  yestreen's 
milk  noo — or  the  scrapins  o'  the  parritch  pot ! " 

"  Aye,"  said  Mary  Bell,  "  '  in  the  land  o'  the  leal.'  Ye 
had  better  gang  ben  and  look  up  the  text,  mistress ;  I'll 
attend  to  the  bairns." 

"  Aye,  do  that,"  said  the  good  wife,  with  perfect  un- 
consciousness of  Mary  Bell's  sarcasm,  "but  be  sparin'. 
Mind  ye,  this  is  hard  times  for  farm  folk !  And  we 
canna  spend  gear  and  graith  recklessly  on  unkenned 
bairns." 

"  Ye  will  be  free  o'  that  crime,  mistress,"  murmured 
Mary,  as  her  mistress  took  her  way  into  the  house  ;  "  gin 
ye  could  tak'  a'  that  ye  hae  saved  wi'  ye,  what  a  bien  and 
comfortable  doon-sitting  wad  ye  no  hae  in  heeven  !  Ith- 
erwise,  I'm  nane  sae  sure — in  spite  o'  your  texts." 

Then  Mary  sat  down  and  took  the  children  one  by  one, 
touching  their  faces  to  make  them  waken.  Vara  sat  up 
suddenly,  with  wild  eyes  and  a  cry  of  fear.  In  her  terror 
she  clasped  the  baby  so  hard  that  it  waked  and  cried. 
With  the  other  hand  she  brushed  away  the  elf  locks  about 
her  own  eyes.     But  her  heart  stilled  its  fluttering  as  she 


200  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

caught  the  kindly  eyes  of  Mary  Bell,  set  in  a  brown  sun- 
coarsened  face  of  broad  good  humour. 

"  0,"  said  Vara,  "  I  thought  ye  were  my  mother ! " 

And  Mary  Bell,  who,  though  a  byre  lass  and  daughter 
of  toil,  was  born  with  the  gentle  heart  of  courtesy  within 
her,  refrained  from  asking  why  this  wandering  girl  should 
be  so  greatly  afraid  of  her  own  mother. 

"  Are  you  hungry  ?  "  she  said,  instead. 

And  little  Boy  Hugh  awoke,  rolled  out  of  the  hay,  and 
shook  himself  like  a  young  puppy.  He  stretched  his  arms 
wide,  clasping  and  unclasping  his  fingers. 

"  I'm  that  hungry ! "  he  said,  as  if  he  had  heard  Mary 
Bell's  words  in  a  dream. 

"  That's  answer  enough  !  "  said  the  byre  lass.  "  Cer- 
tes,  ye  are  a  bonny  laddie  ;  come  here  to  me." 

And  Mary  Bell,  who  was  born  to  love  children  and  to 
bear  them,  snatched  him  up  and  kissed  him  warmly  and 
roughly.  But  Hugh  wriggled  out  of  her  arms,  and  as 
soon  as  he  found  himself  on  the  ground  he  wiped  his 
mouth  deliberately  and  ungratefully  with  the  back  of  his 
hand. 

"  Hae  ye  ony  pieces  and  milk  for  wee  boys  ?  "  he  said. 

The  byre  lass  laughed. 

"  Ye  like  pieces  and  milk  better  than  kisses,"  said  she. 
"  Hoo  does  that  come  ?  " 

"  Pieces  and  milk  are  better  for  ye  !  "  said  Boy  Hugh, 
stating  an  undeniable  truth. 

"  It's  a  peety,"  said  Mary  Bell,  sententiously,  "  that  we 
dinna  aye  ken  what's  guid  for  us."  And  she  was  thought- 
ful for  some  moments.  "  Come  awa',  bairns,"  she  said, 
taking  Gavin  from  Vara,  and  carrying  him  herself  into  a 
milk  house,  which  was  filled  with  a  pleasant  smell  of 
curds  and  cheese. 

Hugh  Boy  went  wandering  about,  wondering  at  the 


THAT  OF  MARY  BELL,   BYRE  LASS.  201 

great  tin  basins  filled  with  milk  to  the  brim,  some  fresh 
and  white,  and  some  covered  smoothly  with  a  thick  yellow 
coating  of  cream. 

"I  never  thocht  there  was  as  muckle  milk  in  the 
world  !  "  said  Boy  Hugh. 

So  here  the  children  ate  and  drank,  and  were  refreshed. 
And  as  she  set  before  them  each  new  dainty — farles  of 
cake,  thick  new  scones,  milk  with  the  cream  still  gener- 
ously stirred  amongst  it,  fresh  new  milk  yet  warm  from 
the  cow  for  Gavin,  Mary  Bell  said  :  "  This  is  better  than 
mindin'  a  text !  Sirce  me,  heard  ye  ever  the  like  o'  it — 
'To  the  land  o'  the  leal'?'  An'  she  took  it  a'  in.  She 
reads  a'  the  Bible  ever  she  reads  between  her  sleeps  in  the 
kirk,  I'se  warrant.  Wait  till  I  see  Jamie  Mailsetter  ;  I'll 
hae  a  rare  bar  to  tell  him  1 " 

It  was  an  hour  after,  much  comforted  and  refreshed, 
with  a  back  load  of  provisions  and  one  of  Mary  Bell's 
hardly-earned  shillings,  that  the  wanderers  set  out.  They 
continued  to  wave  her  their  farewells  till  they  were  far 
down  the  loaning. 

And  they  might  well  be  sorry,  for  there  were  not  many 
people  so  kind  and  strong -hearted  as  Mary  Bell  to  be  met 
with  between  the  Town  of  Pilgrimage  and  the  City  of  the 
Twelve  Foundations.  And  some  of  these  are  rough- 
handed  and  weather-beaten  men  and  women,  who  work 
out  their  Christianity  in  feeding  calves  and  bairns  instead 
of  parading  texts,  keeping  the  word  of  G  od  in  their  hearts 
according  to  the  commandment. 


14 


202  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

ADVENTUEE  XXXV. 

THE   KNIGHT  li^  THE   SOFT  HAT. 

AxD  SO  their  second  day  was  a  good  day,  as  most  days 
are  that  are  well  begun  with  a  good  breakfast.  For,  to- 
gether with  a  good  conscience,  that  makes  all  the  differ- 
ence. And  especially  when  you  are  Hugh  Boy's  age,  for 
then  even  the  conscience  does  not  so  much  matter. 

Hugh  Boy  had  never  been  in  the  country  before,  and, 
being  a  lad  of  much  observation,  he  had  to  watch  all  that 
there  was  there.  And  there  were  many  things  for  Hugh 
Boy  to  see  that  day.  Eobin  redbreasts  peeped  with  their 
summer  shyness  upon  them  from  the  low  bushes  on  the 
banks.  Sparrows  pecked  among  flower  patches,  instead 
of  at  the  mud  in  the  streets,  as  Hugh  Boy  had  always  seen 
them  do  before.  There  was  a  big  bird  which  floated  above 
the  farmyard  of  one  of  the  farms  they  passed.  Hugh 
wondered  what  sort  of  bird  it  could  be.  He  heard  a 
motherly  hen,  which  had  been  scraping  and  clucking 
among  the  dust  when  they  came  round  the  corner,  sud- 
denly give  a  strange  screech,  just  like  that  which  Vara 
had  given  the  other  night  when  the  "  awf u'  woman  "  came 
to  their  door.  He  saw  the  hen  droop  her  wings  and 
crouch  in  the  dust,  keeping  her  beak  up  in  the  air,  her 
timid  eyes  glittering  with  anger. 

Hugh  Boy  questioned  Vara,  but  Vara  had  the  baby  to 
attend  to,  and  answered  that  it  was  just  a  bird.  But  soon 
the  big  shadow  on  the  sky  with  the  outstretched  wings 
floated  away,  and  the  hen  went  back  to  its  contented 
picking.  The  children  also  went  along  the  wayside  to- 
day with  many  more  rests  and  lingerings.  For  they  had 
no  longer  the  instant  spur  of  pursuit  driving  them  on. 


THE  KNIGHT  IN  THE  SOFT  HAT.  203 

They  stopped  to  take  their  meal  by  a  little  bridge, 
under  which  a  moorland  burn  ran  bickering  down  to 
join  a  big  river  which  flowed  to  the  distant  sea. 

They  sat  down  in  the  dark  of  the  arch,  and  Vara  had 
spread  out  all  the  provision  which  her  kind  friend,  Mary 
Bell,  had  given  her  before  she  saw  that  at  the  other  end  a 
young  man  was  sitting  close  in  by  the  wall.  At  sight  of 
him  Vara  started,  and  would  have  put  her  bread  and  milk 
back  again.  But  the  man  cried  over  to  her, "  Not  so  fast, 
my  pretty  dears ;  there's  another  hungry  stomach  here." 

"  You  are  welcome  to  a  share  o'  what  we  have,"  said 
Vara,  who  had  been  too  often  hungry  herself  not  to  know 
the  pain  it  meant. 

The  youth  came  and  sat  down  by  them.  He  was  a 
lean  and  unwholesome-looking  vagrant.  The  whites  of 
his  eyes  had  turned  an  unpleasant  lead  colour,  while  the 
pupils  were  orange-coloured,  like  the  stripes  on  a  tiger's 
skin. 

Vara  gave  him  one  of  the  largest  of  Mary  Bell's  scones, 
and  some  of  the  butter  they  had  got  from  the  baker's  wife 
the  day  before.  The  young  man  ate  these  up  greedily, 
and  reached  out  his  hand  for  more.  Vara  offered  him 
some  of  the  loaf  which  she  had  bought. 

"  None  o'  that  dry  choko-tuck  for  me ;  gimme  the  soft 
bread ! "  said  he,  rudely  snatching  at  it. 

Vara  told  him  civilly  that  it  was  not  for  herself  that 
she  wanted  to  keep  it,  but  to  break  up  in  the  baby's  milk. 

In  spite  of  her  pitiful  protest,  however,  the  young  man 
snatched  the  scone  and  ate  it  remorselessly,  looking  at 
Vara  all  the  time  with  evil  eyes,  and  smiling  a  smirk  of 
satisfaction.  There  was  no  snivelling  weakness  about 
him.  Hugh  Boy  never  took  his  eyes  off  him.  Then, 
when  he  had  finished,  the  lout  rose,  coolly  stuffed  the  re- 
mainder of  their  provision  into  his  pocket,  and  came  over 


204:  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

towards  Vara  with  his  hand  stretched  out.  He  caught 
her  by  the  wrist  and  sharply  twisted  her  arm. 

"  Shell  out  your  tin,"  he  said.  "  Out  with  it  now,  and 
no  bones  about  it ! " 

Vara  bore  the  pain  as  well  as  she  could  without  crying 
out.  Suddenly,  however,  the  rascal  dropped  her  hand, 
and  snatched  Gavin  from  her  arms.  He  stood  on  the 
edge  of  the  ravine  over  which  the  bridge  went,  holding 
the  child,  and  threatened  to  throw  him  over  if  she  did 
not  give  him  all  the  money  she  had.  He  was,  of  course, 
as  he  told  himself,  only  "  kidding  "  her,  but  Vara  was  in 
wild  terror  for  Gavin.  Her  particular  evil  genius  had 
never  hesitated  to  carry  out  such  threatenings. 

"  I  will !  I  will ! "  cried  Vara.  And  she  took  the  byre 
lass's  shilling  out  of  her  pocket  and  gave  it  to  the  man. 

"Any  more?"  said  he.  "Yes,  I  see  there  is.  Out 
with  it ! " 

And  Vara  drew  out  the  remainder  of  the  sixpence 
which  the  young  lover  had  thrown  to  her  from  his  cart 
yesterday. 

Then  the  cruel  hobbledehoy  tossed  her  the  child  with  a 
laugh,  and  sprang  sharply  round  the  parapet  of  the  bridge. 
Pale  as  ivory,  Vara  ran  after  him  to  watch.  The  rascal 
was  quite  at  his  ease,  for  he  stopped  to  light  his  pipe  and 
take  a  drink  out  of  a  little  square  bottle.  This  he  stowed 
away  in  the  tails  of  his  coat,  which  were  very  long.  Then 
he  waved  his  hand  humorously  at  Vara  and  Boy  Hugh  as 
they  stood  by  the  arch  of  the  bridge. 

A  tall,  well-built  young  fellow,  was  coming  down  the 
road,  and  a  hope  sprang  up  in  Vara's  mind  that  he  might 
do  something  for  her.  The  stranger's  round  soft  hat  and 
dark  clothes  marked  him  for  a  clergyman.  But  he  swung 
his  stick  and  whistled,  which  were  new  things  to  Vara  in 
one  of  his  cloth. 


THE  KNIGHT  IN  THE  SOFT   HAT.  205 

At  sight  of  him  the  thief  pulled  down  the  corners  of 
his  mouth  and  put  on  his  regulation  mendicant's  whine. 

"  For  the  love  o'  God,  sir,  help  a  poor  fellow  that's 
dyin'  o'  hunger.  I've  walked  fifty  miles  without  a  bite — 
hope  to  die  if  I  haven't,  sir.  I  wouldn't  tell  you  a  lie, 
sir." 

The  stalwart  young  minister  smiled,  and  gave  his  stick 
another  swing  before  he  spoke. 

"  You  have  not  walked  five  miles  without  drinking, 
anyway,  as  my  nose  very  plainly  tells  me.  And  your  pipe 
is  setting  your  coat  on  fire  at  this  very  moment ! " 

The  hobbledehoy  plucked  his  lighted  pipe  out  of  his 
pocket  and  set  his  thumb  in  the  bowl. 

"  You  are  one  of  the  good  kind,"  he  persisted  ;  "  you 
are  not  the  sort  that  would  deny  a  poor  chap  a  sixpence 
because  he  takes  a  draw  of  tobacco  when  he  can  get  it  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit,"  said  the  minister,  good-humouredly ;  "  I 
can  take  a  whiff  myself.  But  I  don't  ask  anybody  else  to 
pay  for  it.  It's  a  fine  business,  yours,  my  lad.  But  I'm 
not  keeping  a  free  rum  and  tobacco  shop.  So  you  had 
best  tramp,  my  man." 

At  this  the  tramp  began  to  pour  forth  a  volley  of  the 
most  foul-mouthed  abuse,  cursing  all  parsons  for  rogues, 
liars,  and  various  other  things.  The  minister  listened 
patiently  for  some  time. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  when  at  last  there  came  a  pause,  "  I 
have  given  you  your  say — away  with  you !  And  if  I  hear 
another  foul  word  out  of  your  mouth,  I  will  draw  my  stick 
soundly  across  your  back." 

"Ohl"  said  the  other  impudently,  "I  thought  you 
were  one  of  the  softish  kind — the  sort  that  when  you 
smote  them  on  the  one  cheek,  turned  the  other  also." 

The  young  man  in  the  round  hat  squared  his  shoulders. 

"  Did  anyone  smite  me  on  the  one  cheek  ?  "  he  asked. 


206  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB   OF  THE  CITY. 

"If  they  did,  I  didn't  know  it.  Perhaps  you  would  like 
to  try?" 

And  he  came  nearer  to  the  rascal,  who  drew  off  as  if 
not  at  all  inclined  to  make  the  experiment.  He  made  no 
reply. 

"  But,"  said  the  minister,,"  since  you  are  so  ready  with 
your  Scripture,  you  will  not  object  to  another  text,  just  as 
good,  and  more  suitable  for  application  to  the  like  of  you. 
It  is — '  A  rod  for  the  fool's  back ! ' " 

And  with  that  he  lifted  his  stick  and  brought  it  down 
on  the  young  rough's  shoulders  with  the  swing  of  a  crick- 
eter cutting  a  high  ball  to  the  boundary. 

Never  was  there  a  more  astonished  scoundrel.  He 
turned  on  the  instant  and  ran.  But  Vara  was  close  be- 
side them  by  this  time. 

"  He  stole  my  money !  "  she  cried ;  "  catch  him !  0 
dinna  let  him  away ! " 

The  young  minister  clapped  his  hat  firmly  on  the  back 
of  his  head  and  gave  chase.  The  thief  was  for  the  mo- 
ment the  swifter,  but  he  had  not  the  wind  nor  the  train- 
ing of  his  opponent. 

"  Stop  ! "  cried  the  pursuer. 

The  thief  glanced  about,  and  seeing  the  stick  he  had 
tasted  before  hovering  in  the  air,  he  dropped  in  a  heap 
across  the  path  to  trip  his  pursuer.  The  minister  cleared 
him  in  his  stride  and  turned  upon  him.  The  rascal  kept 
perfectly  still  till  his  captor  approached.  Then  suddenly 
he  shot  out  his  foot  in  a  vicious  kick.  But  the  young 
fellow  in  the  round  hat  had  been  in  France  and  knew  all 
about  that  game.  He  caught  the  foot  in  his  hand  and 
turned  the  fellow  over  on  his  back.  Vara  came  pant- 
ing up. 

"  Give  this  girl  her  money,"  said  the  minister.  '^  How 
much  was  it,  my  lassie  ?  " 


THE  MADNESS  OP  HUGH  BOY.  207 

.  "  It  was  a  shilling  and  two  pence,"  said  Vara. 

"  Out  with  it  or  I'll  go  through  you  ! "  said  the  minis- 
ter.    And  the  thick  stick  again  hovered  an  ultimatum. 

So  Vara  got  her  money,  and  without  even  a  parting 
curse  the  cowed  and  frightened  rascal  took  himself  off 
down  the  road  at  a  sloiv  trot,  keeping  his  eyes  on  the 
ground  all  the  way. 

Vara  was  left  alone  with  jher  knight  of  the  soft  hat. 


ADVENTURE  XXXVI. 

THE   MADKESS   OF  HUGH   BOY. 

The  young  minister  put  out  his  hand  to  Vara  and  the 
two  walked  quietly  back  to  where  Boy  Hugh  was  kneeling 
on  the  grass,  and  baby  Gavin  was  sitting  grasping  a  dan- 
delion with  one  hand  and  looking  with  wide  deep-set  eyes 
of  philosophic  calm  upon  the  world. 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,"  said  her  champion.  And  Vara 
told  the  tale  with  her  heart  again  beginning  to  beat  with 
terror.  "  But  how  is  it  that  you  are  here  ?  "  said  he.  And 
Vara  explained  as  much  as  she  could. 

"  To  look  for  your  father  in  Liverpool  ?  "  he  said.  "  It 
is  a  long,  sad  way — a  terrible  journey."     He  mused. 

He  had  a  passion  for  setting  things  right,  this  young 
fellow,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  it  would  be  a  good 
thing  if  he  could  get  these  children  into  a  home  of  some 
kind,  and  then  communicate  with  the  police  on  the  sub- 
ject of  their  father. 

But  as  soon  as  the  young  man  began  to  speak  in  his 
low,  persuasive  tones  of  a  home  where  they  could  be  safe 
and  quiet,  Vara  stood  up. 


208  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  0  no,  sir,  I  thank  you,  but  we  can  not  bide.  Some- 
body might  come  and  find  us." 

At  the  mere  thought  she  began  to  tremble  and  hastily 
to  put  her  scattered  belongings  together.  The  young 
minister  made  no  further  objection.  He  walked  with 
them  a  little  along  the  way,  and  before  he  parted  from 
them  he  put  another  shilling  into  Vara's  hand.  Then  he 
leaped  over  the  stone  dyke  on  his  way  to  a  farmhouse 
where  there  was  a  sick  man  waiting  for  him.  From  the 
other  side  of  the  fence  he  told  Vara  shyly  to  remember 
that  she  had  another  Father  to  care  for  her,  who  could 
always  be  found.  But  he  was  shy  about  saying  so  much, 
this  remarkable  young  man.  However,  he  had  a  high 
sense  of  duty,  and  he  felt  that  the  circumstances  justified 
the  observation. 

"  Thank  ye,"  said  Vara ;  "  I'll  no  forget." 

This,  their  second  day,  had  become  one  of  brooding 
heat,  and  Yara  was  glad  to  have  enough  to  buy  a  good 
meal  for  them  all  at  the  next  little  town  they  passed 
through.  They  were  fortunate  also  in  the  afternoon,  for 
at  a  little  house  by  the  wayside,  a  cottage  with  red  creep- 
ers growing  all  along  the  wall,  the  mistress  took  them  all 
in  and  gave  them  a  cup  of  tea  and  some  of  the  fresh 
white  scones  she  was  baking.  There  was  milk  too  for 
little  Gavin.  And  as  they  went  away  a  thought  seemed 
to  strike  the  woman.  She  bade  them  wait  a  little  while. 
She  climbed  up  into  the  attic,  and  presently  returned 
with  a  shawl,  which  she  wrapped  about  Vara,  and  settled 
the  baby  into  the  nook  of  it  with  her  own  hands. 

"  But  this  is  a  good  shawl.  We  must  not  take  it  from 
you,"  said  Vara. 

"  ISTonsense,"  said  the  good  woman ;  "  it  is  a  fair  ex- 
change. Leave  me  the  auld  ane ;  it  will  make  very  decent 
floor-clouts." 


"Out  with  it!"  said  the  raiDister, 


THE  MADNESS   OF   HUGH   BOY.  209 

So  it  was  on  the  whole  a  good  day  for  them.  And  it 
was  not  till  late  in  the  evening  that  misfortune  again  be- 
fell them.  Yara's  hands  were  usually  so  full  of  Gavin 
that  she  had  little  thought  for  anything  else.  But  at  one 
resting  place  she  put  her  hand  into  her  pocket  and  her 
heart  stood  still  because  she  failed  to  find  the  slim  coins 
upon  which  she  had  put  her  trust.  She  felt  the  pennies, 
but  not  the  shilling  or  the  sixpence.  She  laid  Gavin 
down  on  the  grass  and  turned  the  pocket  inside  out. 
There  was  nothing  whatever  there.  But  Vara  found  in- 
stead a  little  slit  in  the  lining,  and  the  thought  of  her 
great  loss,  together  with  what  it  meant  to  them  all,  turned 
her  faint  and  sick. 

"The  man  might  just  as  well  have  had  them,  after 
all,"  she  said. 

Night  fell  with  them  still  upon  the  road.  They  had 
found  no  friendly  shelter,  and  they  seemed  to  be  alone  on 
the  wide  moor,  through  which  the  road  ran  unfenced, 
like  a  tangle  of  string  which  has  been  loosely  thrown 
down.  Hugh  Boy  cried  bitterly  to  be  allowed  to  lie  down. 
Vara  looked  about  her  anxiously  and  long.  But  she 
could  see  nothing  but  the  wild  moorish  hilltops  girdling 
the  horizon,  too  like  one  another  to  give  her  any  idea 
of  the  direction  in  which  a  habited  house  might  lie. 
She  only  saw  the  slow  twilight  of  midsummer  in  the 
north  creeping  down  over  the  brown  moors,  and  in  the 
moist  hollows  of  the  bogs  shallow  pools  of  mist  gath- 
ering. 

For  the  distance,  the  sound  of  a  voice  was  borne  in  the 
still  air. 

"  Hurley,  hurley,  hie  away  hame  ! "  it  said.  And  Vara 
went  to  the  top  of  a  heathery  knowe  and  called  loudly. 
But  only  the  moorbirds,  making  ready  for  bed,  answered 
her.     They  flew  round,  circling  and  complaining,  espe- 


210  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

cially  the  peewits,  which,  being  reassured  by  the  small 
size  of  the  three,  came  almost  offensively  near. 

Boy  Hugh  filled  his  pockets  with  stones  to  drive  them 
away.  He  also  got  out  his  whip.  He  had  heard  of  the 
Babes  in  the  Wood,  and,  being  a  sensible  boy,  he  did  not 
want  any  Kobin  Kedbreast  nonsense.  It  was  not  that  he  so 
much  objected  to  die,  but  he  felt  the  humiliation  of  being 
covered  with  leaves  by  the  whaups.  He  complained  bit- 
terly to  Vara,  who  was  preoccupied  with  Gavin,  that  the 
Drabble  had  stolen  from  him  the  iron  barrel  of  the  pistol 
which  Cleg  Kelly  had  given  him.  Had  it  not  been  for 
that  felony,  they  would  not  now  have  found  themselves  de- 
fenceless in  that  wild  place. 

"Boy  Hugh  thinks  there's  sure  to  be  lions  an'  teegers 
here  ! "  he  said. 

It  was  not  long  before  Vara  decided  that  they  must 
spend  another  night  out  of  doors,  and  looked  about  for  a 
suitable  spot  where  they  could  get  water  and  shelter. 

At  last  she  settled  upon  the  lee  of  a  large  boulder,  and 
began  to  give  Gavin  what  remained  of  his  milk.  Boy 
Hugh  thought  this  was  his  opportunity  to  make  sure  that 
they  were  well  defended  against  their  enemies.  The  moon 
was  rising,  and  he  remembered  that  Cleg  Kelly  had  told 
him  how  lions  and  tigers  always  hunted  by  moonlight. 
That  widely-read  journal, "  The  Bully  Boys  of  New  York," 
was  Cleg's  authority  for  this  statement. 

There  was  certainly  an  appalling  silence  on  the  face  of 
the  moorland.  Boy  Hugh  could  see,  indeed,  the  rock 
behind  which  Vara  and  Gavin  were.  But  he  tried  to  for- 
get it.  He  wanted  the  sensation  of  perfect  loneliness. 
Then  the  devil  entered  into  Boy  Hugh,  and  he  wanted  to 
explore.  The  moon  came  out  from  behind  a  cloud,  and 
everything  became  bleached  and  flat,  melting  away  into 
vague  immensities  and    nerve-shaking  mysteries  which 


THE  MADNESS  OF  HUGH  BOY.  211 

vanished  as  you  approached.  Of  course  that  was  not  the 
way  Boy  Hugh  put  it  to  himself.  It  only  made  him  want 
to  run  away.  But  suddenly  a  vague  fear  struck  him  to 
the  heart,  and  he  started  to  run  back  (as  he  thought) 
towards  Vara  and  Gavin.  He  imagined  that  he  could 
hear  the  sound  of  some  animal  trampling  about  the  moss 
in  search  of  wandering  little  boys.  And  it  occurred  to 
him  that  he  had  no  means  of  defence  except  the  whip, 
and  even  that  served  him  not  so  well  now,  for  the  lash 
was  broken.  So  this  was  the  reason  w^hy  Boy  Hugh  ran 
away. 

Though,  indeed,  his  progress  could  hardly  be  called 
running.  For  at  every  few  steps  he  tripped  in  some  in- 
tricate twist  of  heather,  tough  as  wire,  and,  falling  for- 
ward, he  instinctively  bent  his  body  into  a  half -hoop,  like 
a  young  hedgehog.  Thus  he  rolled  down  the  brae,  often 
coming  upon  his  feet  at  the  bottom  and  continuing  his 
flight  with  energy  unabated  and  without  pausing  a  single 
moment  even  to  ascertain  damages. 

And  so  soon  as  she  missed  him  Vara  stood  up,  with 
Gavin  in  her  arms,  and  cried,  "  Come  back,  Boy  Hugh !  " 
But  Boy  Hugh  continued  his  wild  flight,  driven  by  the 
unreasoning  terror  of  the  vast  and  uncomprehended  which 
had  seized  him  suddenly  and  without  warning. 

At  last  Boy  Hugh  paused,  not  so  much  because  he 
wished  it  as  because  he  had  fallen  into  a  moss-hole  up  to 
the  neck,  and  so  could  run  no  further.  He  sustained  him- 
self by  grasping  a  bush  of  blaeberry  plants,  and  he  dug 
his  toes  into  the  soft  black  peat. 

Then  Boy  Hugh,  who  had  not  gone  to  Hunker  Court 
for  nothing,  bethought  him  that,  since  there  was  nothing 
else  that  he  could  do,  it  was  time  to  say  his  prayers.  "  0 
Lord  ! "  he  prayed—"  0  Lord,  forgive  us  our  sins,  and  re- 
member not    our  trans-somethings  against  us!      Look 


212  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

down  from  heaven  and  help  " — (so  far  his  supplications 
had  run  in  the  accustomed  groove  in  which  Samson  Lang- 
penny  conducted  the  "opening  exercises"  of  Hunker 
Court,  but  at  this  point  Boy  Hugh  diverged  into  origi- 
nality, as  Samson  did  sometimes  when  he  stuck  in  the 
middle  of  the  Lord's  prayer) — "  Look  down  from  heaven 
and  help — a — wee  laddie  in  a  moss-hole.  Keep  him  frae 
teegers  and  lions,  and  bogles  and  black  horses  that  come 
oot  o'  lochs  and  eat  ye  up,  and  frae  the  green  monkeys 
that  hing  on  to  trees  and  claw  ye  as  ye  gang  by.  And 
gie  me  something  to  eat,  and  Vara  and  Gavin  after  me. 
For  I'm  near  dead  o'  hunger,  and  I  want  nae  mair  yester- 
day's bread,  and  help  me  to  find  my  whup-lash.  And 
make  me  grow  up  into  a  man  fast,  for  I  want  to  do  as  I 
like — and  then,  my  certes,  but  I'll  warm  the  Drabble  for 
stealin'  my  pistol.  And  bless  Vara  and  Gavin,  my  faither 
and  Cleg  Kelly,  and  a'  inquirin'  freends.     Amen." 

And  if  anybody  knows  a  more  comprehensive  prayer, 
let  him  instantly  declare  it,  or,  as  the  charge  runs,  be  for 
ever  silent. 


ADVENTUEE   XXXVII. 

BOY   HUGH   FIXDS   OUT  THE   NATURE   OF   A   KISS. 

Vara  always  looks  back  upon  that  night  of  fear  and 
loneliness  as  the  worst  in  all  their  wanderings.  She 
wrapped  Gavin  tightly  in  the  shawl,  till  only  a  little  space 
was  left  for  him  to  breathe.  Then  she  ran  from  knowe- 
top  to  knowe-top  to  look  for  Boy  Hugh,  and  to  call  him 
to  come  back  to  her.  She  dared  not  go  far  from  the 
boulder  lest  she  should  miss  her  way,  and  so  not  be  able 
to  find  her  way  to  the  baby. 


BOY  HUGH  FINDS  OUT  THE  NATURE  OF  A  KISS.  213 

While  Vara  was  wandering  distracted  over  the  moor, 
calling  pitifully  to  him,  Boy  Hugh  was  comfortably 
asleep  beneath  a  heather  bush.  And  the  June  nights  are 
brief  and  merciful  in  Scotland.  It  was  not  long  before  a 
broad  bar  of  light  lay  across  the  eastern  hills.  The  pale 
sea-green  lingering  in  the  west  where  the  sun  had  gone 
down  had  not  altogether  faded  into  the  ashy  grey  of  un- 
coloured  night  ere  the  eastern  sky  began  to  flame. 

The  clouds  of  sunrise  are  like  ocean-rollers  on  a  wide 
beach — long,  barred,  and  parallel — for  the  sun  rises 
through  them  with  majestic  circumspection.  But  the 
clouds  of  sunset  are  apt  to  converge  to  a  point,  like  the 
wake  which  the  sun  draws  after  him  in  his  tumultuous 
downward  plunge. 

But  the  sun  rose  quite  sharply  this  morning,  as  though 
he  must  be  businesslike  and  alert,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
he  had  a  whole  long  day  before  him.  As  he  did  so  the 
shadows  of  every  bush  of  bog-myrtle  and  each  tuft  of 
heather  started  westwards  with  a  rush.  And  the  cool 
blue  image  of  a  lonely  boulder,  like  a  Breton  menhir,  lay 
far  half  a  mile  across  the  moor.  On  the  sunny  side  of  this 
landmark  the  red  rays  fell  on  a  bare  and  curly  head. 
There  was  dew  upon  the  draggled  hair,  just  as  there  was 
upon  the  yellow  bent  grass  upon  which  it  pillowed 
itself. 

Boy  Hugh  lay  curled  up,  like  a  collie  drowsing  in  the 
sun.  He  continued  to  sleep  quietly  and  naturally  the  un- 
disturbed sleep  of  childhood.  Nor  did  he  waken  till  the 
dew  had  dried  from  the  bent  and  from  off  the  tangles  of 
his  hair. 

At  last  he  awoke,  when  the  sun  was  already  high.  He 
uncoiled  him  like  a  lithe  young  animal,  and  started  to 
find  himself  under  the  open  heaven  instead  of  under  a 
roof.     With  a  shake  and  a  toss  of  his  head  he  made  his 


214  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB   OF  THE  CITY. 

toilet.  Then  suddenly  he  remembered  about  Vara,  and 
hoped  vaguely  that  he  would  soon  find  her.  But,  alas  ! 
the  day  was  bright.  The  sunshine  began  to  run  in  his 
veins,  and  all  the  moorland  world  was  before  him.  He 
did  not  think  much  more  about  her  at  all.  For  the  mo- 
ment he  was  as  merry  as  the  larks  singing  above  him. 
He  hallooed  to  the  plovers,  and  occasionally  he  threw 
stones  at  them,  just  as  the  mood  took  him.  By-and-bye 
Boy  Hugh  came  to  a  wide  burn,  and  at  once  proceeded  to 
cross  it,  as  many  a  time  he  had  crossed  a  plank  in  Callen- 
dar's  yard,  upon  all-fours  like  a  monkey. 

The  burn  was  fringed,  like  many  of  the  watercourses 
of  the  southern  uplands,  with  a  growth  of  sparse  and  ill- 
favoured  birches.  Hugh  Boy  found  one  of  these  which 
leaned  far  over  the  water,  having  had  its  roots  under- 
mined by  the  winter  spates.  He  crawled  out  upon  its 
swaying  top  without  hesitation  till  it  became  too  slender 
to  bear  him.  He  counted  upon  the  slender  trunk  bending 
like  a  fishing-rod  and  depositing  him  near  enough  to  the 
opposite  bank  to  drop  safely  to  the  ground.  But  just 
when  Hugh  Boy  was  ready  to  leap,  the  treacherous  birch 
gave  way  entirely,  and  fell  souse  into  the  water,  with  the 
small  human  squirrel  still  clinging  to  it.  The  birch  lay 
across  the  pool,  and  Boy  Hugh  held  fast.  He  was  up  to 
the  neck  in  water.  He  wondered  how  he  would  get  out. 
First  he  managed  to  kick  his  legs  free  of  the  twigs  which 
clutched  him  and  tried  to  drag  him  down. 

"  Here,  nice  little  boy  !  "  suddenly  a  voice  above  him 
cried.  "  Take  hold  of  my  hand,  and  I  will  pull  you  out 
of  the  water." 

It  was  the  clearest  little  voice  in  the  world,  and  it 
spoke  with  a  trill  which  Boy  Hugh  seemed  to  have  heard 
somewhere  before.  It  conveyed  somehow,  indeed,  a  rem- 
iniscence of   Miss   Celie  Tennant.     But  the  little  lady 


BOY  HUGH  FINDS  OUT  THE  NATURE  OF  A  KISS.  215 

who  spoke  was  only  a  year  or  two  older  than  Boy  Hugh 
himself,  and  she  was  dressed  in  the  daintiest  creamy  stuff, 
fine  like  cobweb.  Boy  Hugh  looked  at  her  in  such 
amazement  that  he  came  near  to  letting  go  the  birch- 
tree  altogether.  She  seemed  to  him  to  be  all  wonderful, 
with  yellow  hair  like  summer  clouds,  and  blue  eyes  full 
of  pity. 

Boy  Hugh  recalled  certain  things  which  he  had  heard 
at  Hunker  Court. 

"  Are  you  an  angel  ?  "  he  said,  quite  seriously. 

"  Oh  no,  silly  ! "  cried  the  maiden  gaily,  shaking  her 
fleece  bewilderingly  at  him.  "  Of  course,  I  am  only  a 
little  girl.  I  just  tooked  my  parolsol  and  corned  a  walk. 
And  you  are  the  very  nicest  little  boy  that  ever  I  saw — 
quite  a  child,  of  course,"  she  added  patronisingly.  "  But 
take  hold  of  my  parolsol.  Be  careful  not  to  splash  me 
when  you  shake  yourself.  And  after  that  I'll  give  you  a 
kiss.     I  like  nice  little  boys  ! " 

"  What  is  a  kiss? "  asked  Boy  Hugh. 

They  did  not  deal  in  the  commodity  in  the  Tinklers' 
Lands.  And  even  if  his  sister  Vara  did  kiss  him  to  sleep 
every  night,  and  was  for  ever  kissing  the  baby  as  if  its 
mouth  was  a  sweetmeat,  she  did  not  think  it  becoming  or 
menseful  to  mention  the  word.  So  that,  quite  sincerely, 
Boy  Hugh  asked  again,  "  What  is  a  kiss,  little  girl  ?  " 

"  Come  up  here,  nice  boy,  and  I  will  show  you ! "  re- 
plied the  maiden  promptly. 

And  somehow  Hugh  knew  that  this  was  an  invitation 
by  no  means  to  be  declined. 


216  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

ADVENTUKE   XXXVIIL 

OF   MISS   BEIGGS   AND   HER   TEI^   CATS. 

"  Now  then,  do  you  like  it  ?  "  asked  this  frank  young 
person.  But  Hugh  Boy  was  silent  as  to  what  he  thought 
of  his  first  knowledgable  kiss.  Not  that  it  mattered,  for 
the  gay  little  lady  rattled  on  regardless.  "And  what  is 
your  name,  little  boy?  You  are  very  ragged,  and  you 
have  come  a  long  way.  But  you  are  clean,  and  Aunt  Ro- 
bina  can't  scold  me,  for  she  tells  me  to  be  kind  to  the 
poor,  especially  when  they  are  quite  clean." 

Boy  Hugh  bashfully  answered  that  his  name  was  Hugh 
Kavannah.  "  And  a  very  nice  name  it  is,  nice  little  boy ! " 
the  maid  rattled  on,  heeding  him  but  little,  but  loving 
the  sound  of  her  own  twitter. 

The  children  went  over  the  moor  together,  till  it  began 
to  feather  into  sparse  birch-woods  and  thicker  copses 
towards  the  plain.  Sometimes  as  they  went  the  little 
girl's  hair  whipped  Boy  Hugh's  brow.  He  had  forgotten 
all  about  Vara  and  the  baby. 

"  Do  they  make  you  say  your  prayers  in  the  morning 
as  well  as  at  night  ?  "  she  asked  ;  "  they  do  me — such  a 
bother!  Aunt  Eobina,  she  said  last  week,  that  it  was 
self-denial  week,  and  we  must  give  up  something  for  the 
Lord.  So  I  said  I  did  not  mind  giving  up  saying  my 
prayers  in  the  morning.  '  Oh,  but,'  said  cousin  Jimmy, 
'you  must  give  up  something  you  like  doing.'  Horrid 
little  boy,  Jimmy,  always  blowing  his  nose — you  don't, 
well,  I  don't  believe  you  have  a  handkerchief — and  Aunt 
Robina,  she  says,  'Well,  and  what  do  you  think  God 
would  say  if  you  gave  up  saying  your  prayers?'  'God 
has  said  already,'  I  told  her.     'What  has  God  said?'  she 


MISS  BRIGGS  AND  HER  TEN  CATS.  217 

wanted  to  know,  making  a  face  like  this .     So  I  told 

her  that  God  said, '  Pray  don't  mention  it.  Miss  Briggs.' 
My  name  is  Miss  Briggs,  you  know.  I  have  ten  cats. 
Their  names  are  Tom  and  Jim,  and  Harry  and  Dick,  and 
Bob  and  Ben  and  Peter.     But  Peter's  an  awful  thief." 

She  paused  for  breath,  and  shook  her  head  at  the  same 
time.  Hugh  Boy  listened  with  the  open  mouth  of  un- 
bounded astonishment. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Miss  Briggs,  "  and  I  fear  he  will 
come  to  a  bad  end.  I've  thrown  him  into  the  mill-dam 
three  times  already,  like  Jonah  out  of  the  ship  of  Tar- 
shish.  Aunt  Kobina  says  I  may  play  Bible  stories  on 
Sundays,  you  know.  So  I  play  Jonah.  But  he  always 
gets  out  again.  ISText  time  I'm  going  to  sit  squash  on  him 
till  he's  dead.  Once  I  set  on  a  nestful  of  eggs  because  I 
wanted  some  dear  wee  fluffy  chickens — but  I  need  not  tell 
you  about  that.  I  got  whijoped,  but  Aunt  Eobina  had  to 
buy  me  a  new  pair  of — oh,  I  forgot,  I  was  telling  you 
about  wicked  Peter.  Peter  is  not  a  house-cat  like  the 
rest,  you  see.  He  is  a  bad,  wicked  cat.  He  lives  in  the 
barn  or  in  the  coach  house  and  eats  the  pigeons.  And  he 
lies  on  the  cows'  backs  on  cold  nights.  But  in  the  day- 
time Peter  sleeps  on  the  roof  of  the  outhouses,  and  when 
any  one  of  the  other  cats  gets  anything  nice  to  eat,  Peter 
comes  down  on  them  like  a  shot " 

"Oh  aye!"  cried  Boy  Hugh,  excited  to  hear  about 
something  he  understood,  "  I  hae  seen  them  do  like  that. 
Then  there's  a  graund  fecht,  lying  on  their  backs  and 
tearing  at  ane  anither  wi'  their  claws,  and  spittin'  and 
rowin'  ower  yin  anither  like  a  ba' " 

"My  cats  are  not  horrid  creatures  like  that!"  said 

Miss  Briggs,  in  a  dignified  manner,  "  as  soon  as  ever  they 

see  Peter  coming  they  take  to  their  heels  and — oh,  you 

should  just  see  them  run  for  the  kitchen  door!    And 

15 


218  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

their  tails  are  just  like  the  fox's  brush  that  Aunt  Robina 
dusts  the  pictures  with.  And  then  in  a  minute  after  you 
can  see  wicked  Peter  sitting  on  the  rigging  of  the  barn 
eating  my  poor  darling  house-cat's  nice  breakfast." 

"  Three  cheers  for  Peter ! "  cried  Hugh,  who  did  not 
know  any  better  than  to  express  his  real  sentiments  to  a 
lady. 

Miss  Briggs  instantly  withdrew  her  hand  from  his. 
Her  nose  turned  up  very  much,  till  its  expression  of  scorn 
became  almost  an  aspiration. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  not  such  a  nice  little  boy  after 
all,"  she  said,  severely. 

As  they  went  on  together  the  children  came  to  the 
very  edge  of  the  moorland.  They  ascended  a  few  steps 
to  a  place  where  there  were  many  tumbled  crags  and 
cunning  hiding-places.  From  the  edge  of  these  they 
looked  down  upon  a  plain  of  tree  tops,  in  the  midst  of 
which  peeped  out  the  front  of  a  considerable  mansion. 
The  lower  windows  and  the  door  were  hidden  in  a  green 
haze  of  beech  leaves. 

"  That  is  where  I  live,  little  boy,"  said  Miss  Briggs, 
grandly.  "  The  propriety  will  belong  to  me  some  day. 
And  then  I  shall  send  Peter  away  for  good." 

Miss  Briggs  looked  down  on  the  house  and  gardens 
with  the  eye  of  the  possessor  of  a  "  propriety." 

"  Tissy,  wissy — tissy — wissy ! "  she  cried,  suddenly  for- 
getting her  dignity. 

There  was  a  stirring  here  and  there  among  the  trees. 
And  lo !  from  off  the  roofs  of  the  barn  and  the  byre,  out 
of  the  triangular  wickets,  from  off  round-topped  corn- 
stacks  and  out  of  different  doors  in  the  dwelling-house, 
there  sprang  a  host  of  cats.  "See  them,"  said  Miss 
Briggs,  impressively,  "  every  one  of  them  comes  to  meet 
me.     That's  Peter,  wicked  Peter,"  she  said,  pointing  to  a 


MISS  BRIGGS  AND  HER  TEN  CATS.  219 

large  brindled  pussy  which  led  the  field  by  half-a-dozen 
lengths.  Over  the  bridge  they  came,  all  mewing  their 
best,  and  all  arching  their  tails. 

"Their  ten  tails  over  their  ten  backs!"  said  Miss 
Briggs,  as  if  she  found  much  spiritual  comfort  in  the 
phrase. 

The  cats  rubbed  themselves  against  her.  Some  of  them 
leaped  upon  her  shoulder  and  sat  there,  purring  loudly. 
Hugh  Boy  was  unspeakably  delighted. 

"  I  wish  Vara  could  see,"  he  said,  remembering  for  the 
first  time  his  sister  and  Gavin. 

A  harsh  voice  broke  in  upon  them. 

"Elizabeth  Briggs!  Elizabeth  Briggs!  What  is  all 
this  play-acting  ?  And  what  gangrel  loon  is  this  that  ye 
are  bringing  to  the  door  by  the  hand?  Is  there  not 
enough  wastry  and  ruination  aboot  the  house  of  Rascarrel 
already,  without  your  wailing  hame  every  gypsy's  brat  and 
prowling  sorrow  of  a  gutter- bluid  ?  Think  shame  o'  your- 
sel',  Elizabeth  Briggs ! " 

Hugh  Boy  dropped  the  hand  which  held  his.  He 
would  not  bring  disgrace  on  the  friend  who  had  helped 
him. 

"Aunt  Kobina,  you  forget  yourself,"  interposed  the 
young  lady  with  prim  dignity,  "and  you  forget  'what 
sayeth  the  Scripture.' " 

She  took  Boy  Hugh's  hand  again,  and  held  it  tighter. 
"  Forget  the  Scripture,"  cried  a  tall  dark-browed  woman 
who  came  limping  out  from  a  seat  under  a  weeping  elm. 
She  was  leaning  heavily  with  both  hands  upon  a  staff, 
which  she  rattled  angrily  on  the  ground  as  she  spoke. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Briggs,  "  do  you  not  know  that  I 
am  Pharaoh's  daughter,  and  this  is  little  Moses  that  I 
drew  out  of  the  water  ?  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Elizabeth  Briggs,  and  come  here 


220  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

instantly!"  said  the  dark  woman,  tapping  the  ground 
again  with  her  staff. 

Hugh  Boy  knew  the  tone.  He  had  heard  something 
like  this  before. 

"  Is  that  your  '  awf u'  woman '  ?  "  he  said  aloud,  point- 
ing with  his  finger  at  the  woman  leaning  upon  the  stick. 

"Elizabeth  Briggs,"  she  commanded  again,  pointing 
at  the  little  girl  with  her  stick,  "  come  in  to  your  lesson 
this  minute.  And  you,  whatever  you  may  call  your- 
self, take  yourself  off  at  once  or  I'll  get  the  police 
to  you ! " 

"  Yes,  do  go  away,  nice  little  boy,"  said  Miss  Briggs ; 
"  but  when  you  grow  big,  come  back  to  the  house  of  Eas- 
carrel  and  Miss  Briggs  will  marry  you.  And  I  will  give 
you  another  kiss  at  the  garden  stile — and  so  will  Peter ! " 
she  added.  For  she  felt  that  some  extra  kindness  and 
attention  was  due  from  her,  to  make  up  for  the  most 
unscriptural  hardheartedness  of  her  Aunt  Eobina. 

So  the  children  took  their  way  together  to  the  garden 
stile,  and  as  they  went  out  of  sight.  Boy  Hugh  turned 
round  to  the  dark-browed  woman  : 

"My  name  is  Boy  Hugh,"  he  said,  "but  I'm  not  a 
beggar,  awfu'  woman ! " 

The  children  went  slowly  and  sorrowfully  along  a 
gravel  walk  thickly  overgrown  with  chickweed  and  moss. 
Their  feet  made  no  sound  upon  it.  On  either  side  box 
borders  rose  nearly  three  feet,  straggling  untended  over 
the  walks.  Still  further  over  were  territories  of  goose- 
berry bushes,  senile  and  wellnigh  barren,  their  thin-leaved, 
thorny  branches  trailing  on  the  ground  and  crawling  over 
each  other.  Beyond  these  again  was  a  great  beech  hedge 
rising  up  into  the  sky.  Boy  Hugh  looked  at  the  dark 
Irish  yews  standing  erect  at  the  corner  of  every  plot.  He 
thought  they  were  like  the  sentinels  at  the  gate  of  Holy- 


MISS  BRIGGS  AND  HER  TEN  CATS.  221 

rood,  at  whom  he  used  to  look  as  often  as  he  could  slip 
away  from  the  Tinklers'  Lands. 

Then  all  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  he  began  to  cry. 
Miss  Briggs  stopped  aghast.  She  was,  like  all  womenfolk, 
well  accustomed  to  her  own  sex's  tears.  But  a  male  crea- 
ture's emotion  took  her  by  surprise. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  said  ;  "  tell  me  instantly, 
nice  little  boy." 

"  This  maun  be  heaven,  after  a',"  said  he,  "  an'  your 
awfu'  woman  winna  let  Boy  Hugh  bide." 

Presently  they  came  out  upon  a  circular  opening  where 
the  bounding  beech  edge  bent  into  a  circle,  and  the 
gloomy  yew  tree  sentinels  stood  wider  about.  Overhead 
the  crisp  leafage  of  the  beeches  clashed  and  rustled. 

Here  was  a  great  garden  seat  of  stone,  and  there  at  the 
back  rose  a  fountain  with  stone  nymphs — a  fountain  long 
since  dry  and  overgrown  with  green  moss.  It  seemed  to 
Boy  Hugh  as  if  they  could  never  get  out  of  this  vast  en- 
closure. 

There  was  also  a  little  stone  building  at  the  end  down 
the  vista  of  the  gravel  walk.  Its  door  stood  open  and  Boy 
Hugh  looked  within.  It  was  empty  like  a  church.  The 
floor  was  made  of  unpainted  wood  in  squares  and  crosses. 
There  were  painted  pictures  on  the  walls,  and  a  shining 
thing  with  candles  standing  upon  it  at  the  far  end.  Be- 
hind this  the  sun  shone  through  a  window  of  red,  and  yel- 
low, and  blue. 

"  Is  that  God  ?  "  said  Hugh  Boy,  after  gazing  a  long 
time  at  the  glory  of  the  shining  crimson  and  violet  panes 
and  the  shining  gold  upon  the  altar. 

But  Miss  Briggs  dragged  him  away  without  making 
him  any  answer. 

Presently  they  came  to  half-a-dozen  steps  in  an  angle, 
which  led  over  the  outer  wall.     They  had  slipped  under 


222  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

a  mysterious  archway  of  leaves  and  so  through  the  heech 
hedge  in  order  to  reach  this  ladder  of  stone. 

"  Good-bye  !  "  said  Miss  Briggs  ;  "  remember — come 
back,  nice  little  boy,  as  soon  as  you  are  growed  up,  and  I 
will  marry  you.  And  then  we  will  send  Aunt  Eobina 
to  the  poorhouse.  Kiss  me,  nice  boy — and  now  kiss 
Peter." 

With  that  Miss  Briggs  disappeared,  running  as  hard  as 
ever  she  could,  so  that  she  would  not  need  to  cry  within 
sight. 

But  as  soon  as  she  got  to  the  great  circle  of  the 
beeches  and  yews,  she  burst  out  sobbing.  "  He  was  the 
very  nicest  boy — the  nicest  boy.  But  of  course  there 
could  be  nothing  in  it.  For  he  is  only  a  mere  child,  you 
know ! " 

But  Boy  Hugh  walked  stolidly  up  the  steps,  and  so 
out  of  Paradise. 

"  I  am  very  hungry !  "  he  said. 


ADVENTURE  XXXIX. 

THE   ADVEIfTURE   OF   SNAP'S   PORRIDGE. 

But  he  found  Providence  just  over  the  wall.  For 
there  sat  Vara  and  there  was  the  great  stone  behind  which 
they  had  spent  the  night.  All  his  wanderings  had  just 
brought  him  back  to  where  he  had  started  from.  But 
for  all  that  he  was  exceedingly  glad  to  see  Vara. 

He  called  her,  standing  still  on  the  top  of  the  wall. 
She  started  up  as  if  she  had  heard  a  voice  from  the  grave. 
And  the  face  which  she  turned  to  him  was  colourless  like 
chalk. 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  SNAP'S  PORRIDGE.       223 

«  \Yi'  Vara,"  said  Hugh,  "what's  wrang?  Your  face 
looks  terrible  clean  ?  " 

"  0,  Boy  Hugh — Boy  Hugh,"  she  cried,  bursting  into 
relieving  tears,  "  it's  you.     What  a  night  you  have  given 


me 


f » 


But  not  a  word  of  reproach  came  from  the  lips  of  Vara 
Kavannah.  She  had,  indeed,  enough  to  do  to  keep  the 
babe  quiet.  For  having  run  hither  and  thither  over  the 
moor  looking  for  her  brother,  she  had  not  had  time  to 
seek  for  any  farmhouse  where  she  could  get  some  milk  for 
Gavin's  bottle. 

In  a  little,  however,  they  were  again  walking  hand  in 
hand,  and  Boy  Hugh  was  pouring  out  all  the  story  of 
his  adventures  in  the  Paradise  of  the  House  of  Kas- 
carrel. 

Chiefly  he  dwelt  upon  the  divine  beauty  and  abound- 
ing merits  of  Miss  Briggs. 

"Dinna  you  think  she  was  an  angel  frae  heeven?" 
said  Boy  Hugh. 

"  I  think  she  was  a  nasty,  wicked,  enticing  little  mon- 
key !  "  burst  out  Vara.  For  though  it  is  part  of  woman- 
hood's privilege  to  put  up  with  the  truantry  of  mankind 
without  complaint,  it  is  too  much  to  expect  her  to  suffer 
gladly  his  praises  of  the  Canaanitish  women  he  may  have 
collogued  with  upon  his  travels. 

And  then  Vara  walked  a  long  way  silent  and  with  her 
head  in  the  air.  Hugh  Boy  kicked  all  the  stones  out  of 
his  path  and  was  silent  also. 

Nevertheless,  though  in  this  sulky  silence,  they  trav- 
elled steadily  on  and  on.  Horizon  after  horizon  broke 
up,  spread  out  to  either  side,  streamed  dispersedly  past 
them,  and  re  composed  itself  again  solidly  behind  them. 

"  I'm  awesome  hungry  ! "  at  last  said  Boy  Hugh,  hum- 
bly.   Vara  became  full  of  compassion  in  a  minute. 


224  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  And  Vara  has  nothing  to  give  ye ! "  she  said ;  "  poor 
Boy  Hugh!" 

The  baby  woke  with  a  faint  cry. 

They  had  passed  off  the  moor  and  were  now  come 
among  inhabited  houses  again.  They  were  just  passing  a 
little  cottage  which  stood  with  its  end  to  the  road,  as  a 
little  boy  came  out  of  the  gate  with  a  great  bowl  of  por- 
ridge and  milk  in  his  hand. 

"  Snap !  Snap  1 "  he  cried,  and  looked  up  and  down 
the  road.  A  small  terrier  pricked  its  ears  briskly  over  a 
wall  and  then  leaped  down  upon  the  road.  "  Here, 
Snap  ! "  cried  the  boy. 

Snap  came  slowly  walking  down  the  dusty  highway. 
He  smelled  at  the  dish  of  porridge  and  milk.  Then  he 
sniffed  loudly  upon  the  nose  of  contempt.  For  he  had 
just  been  dining  richly  in  the  outhouse  on  a  rat  which  he 
had  killed  himself. 

Yara's  eyes  blazed  at  the  sight  of  the  porridge  and 
milk. 

"  0,  gie  that  to  the  baby ! "  she  cried,  her  eyes  fairly 
sparkling  fire.  "  Gie  that  to  wee  Gavin.  The  dog  doesna 
want  it ! " 

The  little  boy  ran  back  into  the  house,  crying  out  at 
the  top  of  his  voice,  "  0,  mither,  mither,  here's  a  lassie 
wants  to  gie  our  Snap's  porridge  to  a  babby ! " 

A  kindly-faced,  apple-cheeked  country  woman  came 
to  the  door  of  the  cottage.  She  had  been  baking  cakes, 
and  she  dusted  the  oatmeal  off  her  hands  as  she  stood 
there. 

"Can  I  get  the  dog's  porridge  for  the  bairns?  He 
doesna  want  them.  'Deed  he  doesna ! "  cried  Vara,  be- 
seechingly. 

"  Of  course,  lassie,  ye  can  hae  the  porridge,  and  wel- 
come I "  said  the  woman,  doubtfully. 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  SNAP'S  PORRIDGE.       225 

"  0,  thank  ye,  mem,  thank  ye  !  "  cried  Vara,  pouncing 
instantly  on  the  porridge,  lest  the  permission  should  be 
withdrawn.  In  a  minute  she  had  put  most  of  the  milk 
into  the  babe's  bottle  and  the  rest  into  the  hands  of  Boy 
Hugh,  who  fell  upon  the  porridge  unceremoniously  with 
his  fingers.  Vara  smiled  as  she  looked.  She  was  hun- 
grier than  either — but  happy. 

The  woman  stood  watching  the  wolfish  eagerness  of 
the  younger  children  at  the  sight  of  food  with  a  strange 
look  on  her  face.  Her  lip  tightened  and  her  eyes  grew 
sterner.  Suddenly  Vara  glanced  up  at  her  with  frank 
blue  Irish  eyes,  brightened  by  hunger  and  suffering. 
They  looked  through  and  through  the  woman  at  the  door. 

"  Mither,"  said  the  boy, "  they're  eatin'  up  a'  our  Snap's 
porridge,  and  there  will  no  be  a  drap  left " 

The  woman  turned  on  him  with  a  kind  of  gladness. 

"  Hold  your  tongue ! "  she  said,  with  quite  unneces- 
sary vehemence.  And  she  slapped  her  son  smartly  for  no 
particular  reason.  The  tears  were  running  down  her 
cheeks.  She  almost  dragged  the  children  into  the  house. 
Then  and  there  she  spread  such  a  breakfast  for  them  as 
Vara  had  been  seeing  in  her  dreams  ever  since  she  grew 
hungry.  It  seemed  that  Gavin  grew  visibly  plumper  be- 
fore her  very  eyes,  with  the  milk  which  he  absorbed  as  a 
sponge  takes  up  water.  And  there  appeared  to  be  no 
finality  to  Boy  Hugh's  appetite.  He  could  always  find 
room  for  just  another  scone,  spread  with  fresh  butter  and 
overlaid  with  cool  apple-jelly  such  as  Vara  had  never  in 
her  life  partaken  of. 

Vara  herself  was  almost  too  happy  to  eat.  But  the 
kind  woman  pressed  her  and  would  not  let  her  leave  the 
table. 

"  But  I  hae  naething  to  pay  ye  wi' !  "  said  Vara,  whose 
soul  was  great. 


226  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  Hoot,  hear  to  the  lassie !  I  wadna  tak'  pay  frae  the 
Queen  if  she  caaed  in  aff  the  road  to  drink  a  dish  of  tea. 
My  man's  the  Netherby  carrier.  But  tell  me  what's 
brocht  ye  here,  wi'  sic  a  bairn  ?  " 

And  Vara  told  her  as  much  as  was  necessary. 

"  To  Liverpool  to  find  your  faither,"  said  the  woman. 
"  Ye  dinna  stir  a  fit  till  the  morrow's  morn,  and  then  ye 
can  get  a  ride  wi'  our  John  as  far  as  Netherby,  at  ony 
rate." 

Vara  was  more  than  grateful  to  her.  She  was  the 
first  person  who  had  taken  their  quest  seriously.  So  the 
carrier's  wife  kept  them  till  night,  and  helped  Vara  to 
give  the  baby  and  Hugh  a  bath.  Then  she  made  Vara 
strip  herself,  and  shut  the  door  upon  her  till  the  girl  had 
enjoyed  such  a  tubful  of  warm  water  as  she  had  never 
washed  in  before.  As  Vara  was  finishing  and  rubbing  her 
slender,  wearied  body  and  blistered  feet  with  a  soft  towel, 
the  carrier's  wife  opened  the  door.  "  Put  on  these !  "  she 
said ;  "  they  were  my  wee  Grade's,  and  I  canna  bear  to 
keep  them  in  the  house."  Vara  would  have  protested, 
but  the  woman  shut  the  door  with  a  slam. 

When  Vara  came  out,  Gavin  was  sitting  on  the  car- 
rier's knees  and  plucking  at  his  beard.  For  "  our  John  " 
had  come  in  and  heard  their  story.  He  was  a  wise  carrier, 
and  knew  better  than  to  attempt  to  interfere  with  his 
wife's  benevolences.  Then  what  was  Vara's  astonishment 
to  find  the  babe  also  clad  in  a  new  frock,  and  giving 
rustling  evidence  of  fresh  underclothing.  She  could  hear 
Boy  Hugh's  voice  outside.  He  and  Snap's  master  had 
made  up  the  peace,  and  were  now  out  somewhere  about 
the  barn,  encouraging  Snap  to  possess  himself  of  another 
dinner  of  rat. 

The  woman's  wonderful  kindness  went  to  Vara's  heart. 

"  Ye  shouldna,  oh,  ye  shouldna ! "  she  said,  and  bowing 


A  NEW  KIND  OF  HERO.  227 

her  head  in  her  hands,  she  wept  as  she  had  never  done  in 
the  worst  of  all  her  sufferings. 

"  Hoot !  can  ye  no  hand  your  tongue,  lassie  ?  "  said  the 
carrier's  wife.  "  So  mony  bairn's  things  were  just  a  cum- 
ber and  a  thocht  to  me  in  this  hoose.  Our  youngest  (Tarn 
there)  is  ten,  an'  we  hae  dune  wi'  that  kind  o'  nonsense 
in  this  hoose.  What  are  ye  lauchin'  at,  guidman  ?  "  she 
cried,  suddenly  turning  on  the  carrier,  who  had  been 
quaintly  screwing  up  his  face. 

"  I  wasna  lauchin',"  said  "  our  John,"  his  face  sud- 
denly falling  to  a  quite  preternatural  gravity. 

"  They  were  juist  a  cumber  and  a  care,"  continued  the 
carrier's  wife.  "  And  they  are  better  being  o'  some  use  to 
somebody." 

"  Now  ye  will  lie  down  and  sleep  in  the  back  room, 
till  the  guidman  starts  on  his  round  at  five  i'  the  mornin'." 

So  the  wearied  children  were  put  to  bed  in  the  "  back 
room,"  and  they  fell  asleep  to  the  sound  of  psalm-singing. 
For  the  good  carrier  and  his  wife  were  praising  the  Lord. 
It  is  quite  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  most  psalm-singers 
are  hypocrites.  Much  of  the  good  of  the  world  is  wrought 
by  those  who,  being  merry  of  heart,  sing  psalms. 


ADVENTURE  XL. 

A   NEW   Kli^TD   OF   HERO. 

Then  with  the  morning  came  the  new  day.  The  bit- 
terest blast  was  over  for  these  small  pilgrims.  The  night's 
rest,  the  clean  clothes,  the  goodness  of  the  kind  carrier 
folk  were  new  life  to  Vara.  There  was  brighter  hope  in 
her  heart  as  the  carrier's  wife  set  them  under  the  blue 


228  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

hood  of  the  light  cart,  for  her  "  man  "  did  not  expect  any 
heavy  loads  that  day.  The  children,  therefore,  were  to 
ride  in  the  covered  waggon.  The  good  woman  wept  to 
let  them  go,  and  made  Vara  promise  many  a  time,  to  be 
sure  and  send  her  a  letter.  As  they  went  away  she  slipped 
half-a-crown  into  Vara's  hand. 

"  For  the  baby ! "  she  whispered,  like  one  who  makes 
a  shamefaced  excuse.  And  at  that  moment  the  carrier 
pretended  to  be  specially  busy  about  his  harness. 

But  Hugh  Boy  had  quarrelled  again  with  Snap's  mas- 
ter, and  that  enterprising  youth  sat  on  the  fence  opposite 
and  made  faces  at  the  party,  till  his  mother,  turning 
round  somewhat  quickly,  caught  him  in  the  act. 

"  Ye  ill-set  hyule,"  said  she,  "  wait  till  I  get  ye  I " 

But  her  firstborn  did  not  wait.  On  the  other  hand, 
he  betook  himself  down  the  meadow  with  much  alacrity. 
His  mother's  voice  followed  him. 

"  My  lad,  wait  till  bedtime.  It'll  dirl  far  waur  then. 
'  Warm  backs,  guid  bairns ! '  I'll  learn  you  to  make  faces 
ahint  my  back." 

And  as  Snap's  master  went  down  the  meadow,  the 
parts  likely  to  be  nocturnally  affected  began  to  burn  and 
tingle. 

And  the  thought  of  the  interview  she  would  have  with 
her  son  in  the  evening  did  something  to  console  the  car- 
rier's wife  for  the  loss  of  the  children  to  whom  she  had 
taken  such  a  sudden  liking. 

The  light  cart  went  jingling  on.  The  ISTetherby  car- 
rier whistled  steadily  as  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  driving- 
board,  with  his  feet  on  the  shaft.  Every  now  and  then 
he  passed  over  a  bag  of  peppermint  drops  to  the  children. 

"  Hae ! "  he  said. 

The  ISTetherby  carrier  was  a  man  of  few  words,  and 
this  was  his  idea  of  hospitalit3\     Hugh  Boy  did  not  re- 


A  NEW  KIND  OP  HERO.  229 

member  ever  to  have  been  so  happy  in  his  life.  Kissing 
was  very  well  in  its  way,  though  Vara  had  not  been 
pleased  when  she  heard  of  it.  But  it  was  nothing  to  sit- 
ting in  a  blue-hooded  cart  and  hearing  the  click  and 
jingle  of  brass-mounted  harness.  Now  and  then  the  car- 
rier stopped  at  snug  farm-houses,  and  went  in  to  chaffer 
with  the  goodwife  for  her  eggs.  Then  he  left  the  horse 
in  charge  of  Hugh  Boy,  and  so  completely  won  that  small 
heart.  When  the  carrier  came  out  again,  the  farmer's 
wife  mostly  came  too,  and  the  bargaining  and  bantering 
were  kept  up  as  the  cart  receded  from  the  door.  Even 
when  the  blue-hooded  cart  was  far  down  the  loaning,  a 
belated  and  forgetful  goodwife  would  come  running  to 
some  knowe-top,  and  from  that  eminence  she  would  pro- 
ceed to  give  further  directions  for  commissions  from  the 
town. 

"  Mind  ye  buy  the  thread  at  Rob  Heslop's — no  at  that 
upstart  sieffer's  at  the  corner,  wi'  his  wax  figgurs  an'  his 
adverteesements.     I  dinna  hand  wi'  them  ava' !  " 

For  there  are  still  uncouth  and  outlandish  parts  of  the 
country,  where  the  medical  axiom  that  it  is  wicked  and 
unprofessional  to  advertise  holds  good  in  practical  com- 
merce. ]SI"ow  the  road  toward  England  does  not  run  di- 
rectly through  IsTetherby,  but  leaves  the  town  a  little  to 
one  side  with  its  many  spires  and  its  warring  denomina- 
tions. From  the  outside  ISTetherby  looks  like  a  home  of 
ancient  peace.  But  for  all  that,  there  were  hardly  two 
neighbour  shopkeepers  down  all  its  long  main  street  who 
belonged  to  the  same  religious  denomination— the  only 
exceptions  being  Dickson  the  baker  and  Henderson  the 
butcher  But  Henderson  and  Dickson  did  not  speak  to 
one  another,  having  quarrelled  about  the  singing  of  para- 
phrases in  the  Seceder  kirk. 

However,  the  poor  benighted  Kavannahs  did  not  know 


230  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

one  kirk  from  another.  And  what  is  worse,  indeed  held 
almost  criminal  in  Netherby,  they  did  not  care. 

It  was  here  at  the  parting  of  the  roads  that  John  the 
carrier  took  his  leave  of  them.  His  farewell  was  not 
effusive. 

"  Weel,"  he  said,  cracking  his  whip  three  times  over, 
while  he  thought  of  the  rest  of  his  speech,  "  guid-day.  Be 
sure  and  come  back  and  see  us,  as  the  wife  bade  ye.  The 
sooner  the  better ! " 

But  he  put  a  shilling  into  Hugh's  hand  as  they  parted. 

"  For  peppermints  ! "  he  said. 

Vara  did  not  know  when  she  might  come  to  another 
town  on  her  way,  so  she  decided  to  buy  a  loaf  in  Netherby 
before  going  further.  For  though  they  never  asked  for 
food,  except  when  driven  by  hunger,  as  in  the  case  of 
Snap's  dinner,  yet  since  the  night  on  the  moor  she  had 
resolved  to  ask  for  shelter  if  they  came  to  any  house  at 
nightfall.  So  after  the  carrier  was  gone,  with  many 
charges  Vara  left  Hugh  in  care  of  Gavin  and  went  into 
the  town  to  make  her  markets. 

Hugh  Boy  sat  a  good  while  by  the  roadside,  till  the 
time  began  to  pass  very  dully.  Then  he  became  inter- 
ested in  the  trains  which  kept  shunting  and  whistling  be- 
hind him.  So  he  carried  Gavin  to  the  side  of  the  railway 
line,  where  he  could  just  see  the  road  by  which  Vara 
would  return.  He  was  quite  sure  that  he  could  not  be 
doing  any  harm.  Directly  opposite  there  was  a  fascinat- 
ing turn-table,  upon  which  two  men  stood  with  iron  poles 
in  their  hands  wheeling  round  a  great  engine  as  if  it  had 
been  a  toy.  This  was  really  too  much  for  Boy  Hugh. 
Forgetting  all  about  Vara's  warning,  he  scrambled  over  the 
wire  paling,  and  staggered  across  the  netted  lines  in  order 
to  get  a  nearer  view  of  the  marvel. 

But  just  at  that  moment  up  came  the  main  line  ex- 


A  NEW  KIND  OF  HERO.  231 

press  twenty  minutes  behind  time,  and  the  engine-driver 
in  a  bad  temper.  And  if  Muckle  Alick  had  not  opposed 
the  breadth  of  his  beam  to  the  buffer  of  Geordie  Grier- 
son's  engine,  this  tale,  so  far  at  least  as  two  of  the  Kavan- 
nahs  were  concerned,  would  have  ended  here.  But  when 
Muckle  Alick  gripped  the  children  in  his  great  arms,  and 
made  that  spring  to  the  side,  the  engine  caught  him  so 
exactly  in  the  right  place  that  it  did  no  more  than  con- 
siderably accelerate  his  lateral  motion,  and  project  him 
half-way  up  the  bank.  As  has  been  recorded,  Muckle 
Alick's  first  exclamation  (which  immediately  became  pro- 
verbial all  over  the  Greenock  and  South-Eastern)  was,  "  Is 
there  aught  broke,  Geordie,  think  ye  ?  " 

They  talked  of  getting  up  a  testimonial  to  Muckle 
Alick.  But  the  hero  himself  strongly  discouraged  the 
notion.  Indeed,  he  went  so  far  as  to  declare  that  he  "  wad 
gie  the  fule  a  ring  on  the  lug  that  cam'  to  him  wi'  ony  sic 
a  thing !  "  This  was  a  somewhat  unusual  attitude  for  a 
hero  to  assume  in  the  circumstances.  But  it  was  quite 
genuine.  And  so  well  known  was  the  horse-power  of 
Alick's  buffet,  that  it  would  have  been  easier  to  recruit  a 
storming  party  in  Netherby  than  a  deputation  to  present 
a  "token  of  esteem"  to  the  head  porter  at  Netherby 
Junction. 

In  time,  however  (though  this  is  somewhat  to  antici- 
pate the  tale),  there  came  from  the  Koyal  Humane  Society 
a  medal,  together  with  a  long  paper  setting  forth  the 
noble  deed  of  the  saving  of  the  children.  No  notice  of 
this  ever  appeared  publicly  in  the  local  prints,  to  which 
such  things  are  usually  a  godsend. 

For  Alick  immediately  put  the  medal  in  the  bottom  of 
his  trunk,  beneath  his  "  best  blacks  "  which  he  wore  only 
twice  a  year  at  Sacraments. 

He  had  heard  that  the  editor  of  the  "  Netherby  Chron- 


232  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

icle  and  Advertiser "  had  collogued  with  the  provost  of 
the  town  to  bring  about  this  "  fitting  acknowledgment." 
Now  Muckle  Alick  could  not  help  the  thing  itself, 
but  he  could  help  people  in  Netherby  getting  to  hear 
about  it. 

Muckle  Alick  called  upon  the  editor  of  the  "  Chroni- 
cle." He  found  him  in,  and  engaged  in  the  difficult  task 
of  penning  an  editorial  which  would  not  alienate  the  most 
thin-skinned  subscriber,  but  which  would  yet  be  calcu- 
lated to  exasperate  the  editor  of  the  opposition  local  paper 
published  in  the  next  county. 

"  Maister  Heron,"  said  the  head -porter,  "  I  juist  looked 
in  to  tell  ye,  that  there's  nocht  to  come  oot  in  the  '  Chron- 
icle '  aboot  me  the  morn." 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  said  the  editor,  "  the  item  has  been 
specially  communicated,  and  is  already  set  up." 

"  Then  it'll  hae  to  be  set  doon  again ! "  said  Muckle 
Alick,  firmly. 

"Impossible,  impossible,  I  do  assure  you,  my  dear 
friend,"  remonstrated  the  editor.  He  was  proprietor — 
editor  and  proprietor  in  one.  Such  editors  in  agricultural 
communities  are  always  polite  to  subscribers. 

"  But  it's  no  onpossible.  It's  to  be ! "  said  Alick — "  or 
there's  no  a  paper  will  leave  the  junction  the  morn — aye, 
and  there'll  no  be  a  paper  sell't  in  this  toon  eyther." 

It  was  not  clear  to  the  editor  how  Muckle  Alick  could 
bring  about  this  result. 

"  But,"  said  he,  tapping  the  desk  with  his  pen,  "  my 
dear  sir,  the  stationmaster — the  railway  company " 

"  Ow  aye,  I  ken,"  said  Muckle  Alick,  "  there  wad  be 
a  wark  aboot  it  after,  nae  doot.  But  it's  the  morn  I'm 
speakin'  aboot,  Maister  Heron.  It  is  possible  I  micht  get 
the  sack  ower  the  head  o'  it — (though  I'm  thinkin'  no)". 
But  that  wadna  help  your  papers  to  sell  the  morn." 


"TWA  LADDIES-AND  A  LASSIE.'*  233 

Alick  paused  to  let  this  sink  well  in.  Then  he  took  his 
leave. 

"  Noo,  mind,  I'm  tellin'  ye.     Guid  day,  Yedditur ! " 

That  afternoon  Alick  presided  at  a  gathering  of  the 
amalgamated  paper  boys  of  the  town,  being  accredited 
representatives  of  all  the  various  newsagents.  The  pro- 
ceedings were  private,  and  as  soon  as  strangers  were  ob- 
served, the  house  was  counted  out  (and  stones  thrown  at 
them).  But  the  general  tenor  of  the  resolutions  passed 
may  be  gathered  from  the  fact  that  when  Mr.  Heron 
heard  of  it,  he  ordered  the  junior  reporter  to  "  slate  a 
novel "  just  come  in — a  novel  by  an  eminent  hand.  "  It's 
to  make  three  quarters  of  a  column,  less  two  lines,"  he  said. 

So  that  we  know  from  this,  the  length  of  the  sup- 
pressed article  on  the  presentation  of  a  medal  of  the  Eoyal 
Humane  Society  to  "  our  noble  and  esteemed  townsman, 
Mr.  Alexander  Douglas."  The  "  Netherby  Chronicle  and 
Advertiser"  enjoyed  its  normal  circulation  next  day. 
And,  after  Muckle  Alick  had  carefully  searched  every  col- 
umn of  the  paper,  the  parcels  were  forwarded  from  the 
junction  with  the  usual  promptitude  and  despatch. 

But  this  is  telling  our  tale  "  withershins  about,"  as 
they  say  in  Netherby.     We  return  to  Vara  and  her  bairns. 


ADVENT UKE   XLI. 

"TWA   LADDIES — AN^D   A   LASSIE." 

Muckle  Alick  trotted  the  children  soberly  down  the 
street,  and  at  the  foot  he  turned  his  long  lumbering  stride 
up  a  country  road.     For  Alick  had  a  little  wife  who  was 
an  expert  market-gardener  and  beekeeper. 
16 


234  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

Her  name  was  Mirren,  and  her  size,  as  reported  by 
her  husband,  was  "  near-aboots  as  big  as  twa  scrubbers." 
It  was  for  her  sake  and  because  he  could  not  help  himself, 
that  Muckle  Alick  lived  so  far  from  his  work. 

"  D'ye  think  that  because  I  hae  to  put  up  wi'  a  great 
hulk  like  you,  comin'  hame  at  nicht  smellin'  o'  cinders 
and  lamp  oil,  that  I'm  gaun  to  leeve  in  a  hut  amang  the 
coal  waggons  ?  Na,  certes,  gin  ye  want  to  hae  Mirren 
'  Terregles  to  keep  ye  snug,  ye  maun  e'en  walk  a  mile  or 
twa  extra  in  the  day.  And  it  will  be  the  better  for  keep- 
in'  doon  that  great  muckle  corporation  o'  yours ! " 

And  that  is  the  way  that  Muckle  Alick  Douglas  lived 
out  at  Sandy knowes.  It  was  to  his  small  garden-girt 
house  that  he  took  the  children. 

"  What's  this  ye  hae  fetched  hame  in  your  hand  the 
nicht?"  cried  the  little  wife  sharply,  as  she  saw  her  hus- 
band come  up  the  loaning.  "  It's  no  ilka  wife  that  wad  be 
pleased  to  hae  a  grown  family  brocht  in  on  her  like  this  !  " 

"  Hoot,  Mirren  woman ! "  was  all  that  Muckle  Alick 
said,  as  he  pushed  Vara  and  Hugh  in  before  him,  Gavin 
nestling  cosily  in  his  arms  the  while. 

"  Whaur  gat  ye  them,  Alick  ?  "  said  Mirren,  going  for- 
ward to  look  at  the  bairn  in  his  arms.  "  They  are  bonny 
weans  and  no  that  ill  put  on." 

Little  Gavin  was  so  content  in  the  arms  of  Muckle 
Alick  that  he  smiled.  And  his  sweetness  of  expression 
struggling  through  the  pinched  look  of  hunger  went  right 
to  the  heart  of  Mirren,  who,  having  no  bairns  of  her  own 
— "  so  far,"  as  Muckle  Alick  remarked  cautiously — had  so 
much  the  more  love  for  other  people's.  She  turned  on 
Vara,  who  stood  looking  on  and  smiling  also.  The  little 
woman  was  almost  fierce. 

"  What  has  been  done  to  this  bairn  that  he  has  never 
grown?  "  said  Mirren  Douglas,  wife  of  Muckle  Alick. 


"TWA  LADDIES— AND  A  LASSIE."  235 

Vara  flushed  in  her  slow  still  way,  at  the  imputation 
that  she  had  not  taken  good  care  enough  of  her  Gavin — 
to  pleasure  whom  she  would  have  given  her  life. 

"  I  did  the  best  I  could,"  she  said,  "  whiles  we  had  to 
sleep  oot  a'  nicht,  an'  whiles  I  had  nae  milk  to  gie  him." 

"  Lassie  !  lassie  !  "  cried  Mirren  Douglas,  "  what  is  this 
ye  are  tellin'  me  ?  " 

"  The  truth,"  said  Vara  Kavannah,  quietly ;  "  Gavin 
and  Boy  Hugh  and  me  hae  walked  a'  the  road  f  rae  Edin- 
burgh.    We  hae  sleepit  in  the  hills,  and " 

"  But  how  cam'  the  bairn  here  ?  "  asked  Muckle  Alick's 
fiercely  tender  little  wife ;  "  tell  me  quick ! " 

"  I  hae  carried  Gavin  a'  the  road !  "  said  Vara,  simply. 

"  You,  lassie  ! "  cried  Mirren,  looking  at  the  slip  of 
pale  girlhood  before  her,  "  it's  juist  fair  unpossible  !  " 

"  But  I  did  carry  him.  He's  no  that  heavy  when  ye 
get  the  shawl  weel  set." 

"  0  lassie,  lassie,  ye  juist  mak'  me  fair  shamed,"  cried 
Mistress  Douglas.  "  Alick,  ye  muckle  bullock ;  what  for 
are  ye  standin'  there  like  a  cuif  ?  Gang  ower  to  Mistress 
Eraser's  and  ask  the  lend  o'  her  cradle.  Thae  bairns  are 
gaun  to  bide " 

"  But,  wife,  hae  ye  considered  ?  "  Alick  began. 

"  Considered,  my  fit,  did  ye  no  hear  me  ?  Dinna 
stand  hingin'  there,  balancin'  on  your  soles  like  a  show 
elephant  lookin'  aboot  for  cookies — gang,  will  ye  ! " 

The  little  wife  stamped  her  foot  and  made  a  threat- 
ening demonstration.  Whereupon  Muckle  Alick  betook 
himself  over  the  way  to  Mistress  Eraser's,  and  he  never 
smiled  till  he  got  past  the  gate  of  the  front  garden,  in 
which  Mirren  kept  her  old-fashioned  flowers. 

"  I  thocht  that's  what  it  wad  come  to,"  said  Alick  to 
himself,  "  when  she  saw  the  bairns.  I  wonder  if  she 
means  to  keep  baud  o'  them  a'  thegither?    She's  been 


236  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

wearing  her  heart  on  the  flooers  a  lang  while,  puir  lassie. 
It  wad  be  a  farce  if  three  bairus  cam'  hame  at  once  to 
Sandyknowes  after  sae  lang  withoot  ony,  twa  o'  them 
walkin'  cantily  on  their  ain  feet ! " 

Thus  Alick  mused,  laughing  a  little  to  himself  as  he 
went  over  to  borrow  Mistress  Eraser's  cradle.  He  had  an 
idea. 

"There'll  be  some  amusement  at  ony  rate,"  he  said, 
"  but  I  maunna  be  ower  keen.  Na,  and  I  maun  baud 
back  an'  make  difficulties.  And  then  the  wife  will  tak' 
the  ither  side  and  be  juist  daft  to  get  her  ain  way  and 
keep  them." 

Alick  was  well  aware  of  the  value  of  a  certain  amount 
of  opposition,  judiciously  distributed. 

He  arrived  before  long  at  the  cottage  of  Mistress 
Eraser.  It  was  set  like  his  own  in  the  midst  of  a  garden. 
But  instead  of  being  bosomed  in  flowers,  with  beeskeps 
scattered  about,  the  garden  was  wholly  taken  up  with 
potatoes,  cabbage,  and  curly  greens.  It  was  a  strictly 
utilitarian  garden.  As  soon  as  Muckle  Alick  hove  in 
sight,  turning  up  off  the  main  road,  a  covey  of  children 
broke  from  the  door  of  the  house  and  ran  tumultuously 
towards  him.  They  tripped  one  another  up.  They 
pulled  each  other  back  by  the  hair,  or  caught  those  in 
front  by  the  heels  or  the  coat-tails.  It  was  a  clean-limbed, 
coltish  lass  of  thirteen  who  gained  the  race  and  sprang 
first  into  the  arms  of  Muckle  Alick.  Then  two  smaller 
boys  gripped  each  a  mighty  leg,  while  a  whole  horde  of 
smaller  banditti  swarmed  up  Alick's  rearward  works  and 
took  his  broad  back  by  storm.  When  he  got  to  the 
potato  garden  he  looked  more  like  the  show  elephant 
his  wife  had  called  him  than  ever.  Eor  he  was  fairly 
loaded  with  children  "all  along  the  rigging,"  as  Mistress 
Eraser  said. 


"TWA  LADDIES—AND  A  LASSIE."  237 

She  was  a  buxom,  rosy-cheeked  woman,  gifted  upon 
occasion  with  an  astonishing  plainness  of  speech. 

"  Guidnicht  to  ye,  Alick,"  she  said,  "  thae  bairns  maks 
as  free  wi'  ye  as  if  they  were  a'  your  ain  ?  " 

Alick  disentangled  the  hands  of  one  of  the  rearward 
harpies  from  his  beard  and  mouth.  Whereupon  the  of- 
fended rascal  was  not  to  be  appeased.  He  slid  down, 
caught  the  giant  about  the  knee,  and  began  to  kick  an 
outlying  shin  with  all  his  might. 

"Ye  should  ken  best  whether  they  are  or  no,"  said 
Alick,  "  there's  plenty  o'  them  at  ony  gait ! " 

"  An'  what  wind  has  blawn  ye  awa'  frae  Sandyknowes 
this  nicht  ?  It  takes  naething  less  than  an  earthquake  to 
shake  ye  awa'  frae  Mirren.  Ye  hae  fair  forgotten  that 
there's  ither  folk  in  the  warl." 

"I  was  wanting  the  lend  o'  your  cradle,  guidwife," 
said  Alick,  with  affected  shamefacedness,  well  aware  of 
the  astonishment  he  would  occasion  by  the  simple  request. 

Mistress  Eraser  had  been  stooping  over  a  basin  in 
which  she  was  mixing  meal  and  other  ingredients,  to 
form  the  white  puddings  for  which  she  was  famous.  She 
stood  up  suddenly  erect,  like  a  bow  straightening  itself. 
Then  she  looked  sternly  at  Alick. 

"  Ye  are  a  nice  cunning  wratch  to  be  an  elder — you 
and  Mirren  Terregles  baith — and  at  your  time  o'  life. 
An'  hoo  is  she  ?  " 

"  Ow,  as  weel  as  could  hae  been  expectit,"  said  Muckle 
Alick,  with  just  the  proper  amount  of  hypocritical  res- 
ignation demanded  by  custom  on  these  occasions.  Mis- 
tress Eraser,  whose  mind  ran  naturally  on  the  lines  along 
which  Muckle  Alick  had  directed  it,  was  completely 
taken  in. 

"  An'  what  has  Mirren  gotten  ? — a  lassie,  I'll  wager," 
said  the  excited  mother  of  eleven,  dusting  her  hands  of 


238  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

the  crumblings  of  the  pudding  suet,  and  then  beginning 
breathlessly  to  smooth  her  hair  and  take  off  her  baking 
apron.  So  excited  was  she  that  she  could  not  find  the 
loop. 

"  Aye,"  said  Alick,  quietly,  "  there's  a  lassie  ! " 

"  I  juist  kenned  it,"  said  Mistress  Fraser,  drawing  up 
wisdom  from  the  mysterious  wells  of  her  experience; 
"  muckle  men  and  wee  wives  aye  start  aff  wi'  a  lassie — 
contrary  wise  they  begin  wi'  a  laddie.  Noo  me  and  my 
man " 

What  terrible  revelation  of  domestic  experience  would 
inevitably  have  followed,  remains  unfortunately  unknown. 
For  the  words  which  at  that  moment  Muckle  Alick  deli- 
cately let  drop,  as  the  chemist  drops  a  rare  essence  into 
two  ounces  of  distilled  water,  brought  Mistress  Fraser  to 
a  dead  stop  in  the  fulness  of  her  career  after  the  most  in- 
timate domestic  reminiscences. 

"  But  there's  a  laddie  come  too  ! "  said  Muckle  Alick, 
and  looked  becomingly  at  the  ground. 

Mistress  Fraser  held  up  her  hands. 

"  Of  a'  the  deceitf  u',  hidin',  unneighbourly  craiturs," 
said  Mistress  Fraser,  "  Mirren  Terregles  is  the  warst — an' 
me  to  hae  drank  my  tea  wi'  her  only  last  week.  I'll 
wager  if  I  live  to  hae  fifty  bairns " 

"The  Lord  forbid,"  said  her  husband,  unexpectedly, 
from  the  doorway.     "  We  hae  plenty  as  it  is " 

"And  wha's  faut's  that?"  cried  his  wife  over  her 
shoulder.     "  Oh  the  deceitfu'  randy " 

"  In  fact,"  said  Muckle  Alick,  dropping  another  word 
in,  "  there's  twa  laddies — and  a  lassie  ! " 

Mistress  Fraser  sat  down  quite  suddenly. 

"  Gie  me  a  drink  frae  the  water  can.  Tarn ! "  she  said  ; 
"  haste  ye  fast,  Alick's  news  has  gi'en  me  a  turn.  Twa 
laddies  and  a  lassie — I  declare  it's  a  Queen's  bounty! 


"TWA  LADDIES-AND  A  LASSIE."  239 

Preserve  me,  it's  no  a  cradle  ye  want,  man,  but  a  mill  tap- 
per !  A  time  or  twa  like  this,  and  ye'll  hae  to  plant  taties 
in  the  front  yaird — ye  will  hae  to  pay  soundly  for  your 
ploy  at  this  rate,  my  man.  Three  at  a  whup  disna  gang 
wi'  cancy-lairies  in  the  cabbage  plots,  my  lad." 

"  It's  a  maist  notoriously  curious  thing,"  began  Tarn 
Fraser,  unexpectedly,  "that  I  saw  Mirren  carryin'  twa 
cans  o'  water  this  very  mornin' " 

Muckle  Alick  gave  him  a  warning  look,  which  made 
him  catch  his  next  unspoken  sentence  as  a  wicket- 
keeper  holds  the  ball  before  the  field  has  seen  it  leave 
the  bat. 

"  But — but  she  didna  look  weel "  added  Tam. 

"  I  wad  think  no,  juist,"  cried  Mistress  Fraser,  who  in 
an  inner  room  was  busy  putting  a  selection  of  small  white 
things  into  a  covered  reticule  basket.  "  An  puir  Mirren, 
she'll  no  be  ready  for  the  like.  Wha  could  be  prepared 
for  a  hale  nation  like  this — I'll  tak'  her  what  I  hae.  0, 
the  deceitf u'  besom — I  declare  it  wad  tak'  a  little  to  gar 
me  never  speak  to  her  again." 

"  Dinna  do  that ! "  said  the  hypocritical  giant ;  "  think 
on  her  condeetion " 

"  Condeetion,  condeetion,  quo'  he — I  wonder  ye  are  no 
black  ashamed,  Alick  Douglas.  And  nane  o'  the  twa  o' 
ye  ever  to  say  a  word  to  me,  that's  your  nearest  nee- 
bour " 

"  I  gie  ye  my  word,"  said  Muckle  Alick,  "  I  kenned 
nocht  aboot  it  till  an  hour  or  twa  afore  the  bairns  cam' 
hame  ! " 

Mistress  Fraser  turned  fiercely  upon  him. 

"  Weel,  for  a'  the  leers  in  this  pairish — and  there  are 
some  rousers — ye  beat  them  clean,  Alick  Douglas — and 
you  an  elder  amang  the  Cameronian  kirk !  Hoo  daur 
ye  face  your  Maker,  to  say  nocht  o'  the  kirk  folk  as  ye 


240  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

stand  at  the  plate  on  Sabbaths,  wi'  siccan  lees  in  your 
mouth  ? 

"  Come  awa,  man,"  she  cried  from  the  door  in  her 
haste,  "I  hae  twa  bagfu's  o'  things  here.  Tam,  gang 
ower  by  to  the  Folds  and  up  to  Cowdenslack  and  borrow 
their  twa  cradles.  They'll  no  be  needing  them  for  a 
month  or  twa — I  ken  that  brawly — na,  they  are  straight- 
forrit  women,  and  never  spring  the  like  o'  this  on  puir 
folk  to  set  them  a'  in  a  flutter ! " 

"  I  think  a  single  cradle  wad  do.  It  was  a'  that  Mir- 
ren  asked  for,"  said  Alick  demurely ;  "  but  please  yoursel', 
Mistress  Fraser,  it  is  you  that  kens." 

"  Yin,"  cried  Mistress  Fraser,  "  the  man's  gane  gyte. 
Gin  ye  wuU  bring  a  family  into  the  warld  by  squads  o' 
regiments,  ye  maun  e'en  tak'  the  consequences.  Lod, 
Lod,  three  cradles  a'  rockin'  at  the  same  time  in  yae 
hoose,  it  will  be  like  a  smiddy — or  a  watchmaker's  shop ! 
It'll  be  fine  exerceese  for  ye,  Alick,  my  man,  when  ye 
come  hame  at  nichts — nae  mair  planting  o'  nasty-hur- 
cheons  and  pollyanthies.  But  every  foot  on  a  cradle 
rocker,  and  the  lassie's  yin  to  pu'  wi'  a  string.  An'  serve 
ya  baith  richt.  0,  the  deceitfu'  madam ;  wait  till  I  get 
ower  to  the  Sandyknowes ! " 

And  Alick  had  to  take  his  longest  strides  to  keep  pace 
with  the  anxious  mother  of  eleven — to  whom  he  had  told 
no  lie,  though,  as  he  afterwards  said,  he  "had  maybea 
keeped  his  thumb  on  some  blauds  o'  the  truth." 

"  It  shows,"  said  Alick,  "  what  a  differ  there  is  atween 
the  truth  and  the  hale  truth — specially  when  there's  a  rea- 
son annexed  in  the  shape  of  a  woman's  imagination,  that 
naturally  rins  on  sic  like  things." 

But  as  they  neared  Sandyknowes  it  is  not  to  be  doubted 
that  Alick  grew  a  little  anxious.  His  position  would  not 
be  exactly  a  pleasant  one,  if,  for  instance,  Mirren  should 


"TWA   LADDIES— AND  A   LASSIE."  241 

suddenly  come  out  of  their  little  byre  with  a  full  luggie 
of  milk.     And  it  was  about  milking  time. 

"  There  doesna  appear  to  be  muckle  steer  aboot  the 
place,  for  siccan  an  awfu'  thing  to  hae  happened  so 
lately  1 "  said  Mistress  Fraser. 

"]N"a,"  said  the  arch-deceiver  Alick,  making  a  last 
effort,  "  we  are  tryin'  to  keep  a'  thing  as  quaite  as  pos- 
isble." 

"And  faith,  I  dinna  wonder.  Gin  the  wives  nooadays 
had  ony  spunk  in  them  ava,'  ye  wad  be  mobbed  and  rid- 
den on  the  stang,  my  man ! "  Then  her  grievance  against 
Mirren  came  again  upon  Mistress  Fraser  with  renewed 
force,  "  0,  the  randy,  the  besom,"  she  cried ;  "  wait  till  I 
get  her ! " 

By  this  time  they  were  nearing  the  door  of  Sandy- 
knowes. 

"  I  dinna  think  I'll  come  ben  wi'  ye  the  noo.  I'll 
gang  ower  by  the  barn  instead.  There's  some  things  to 
look  to  there,  I  misdoubt,"  said  Alick. 

Just  then  they  heard  Mirren's  voice  raised  in  a  merry 
laugh.  It  was  really  at  the  tale  of  Boy  Hugh  and  Miss 
Briggs,  which  Vara  was  telling  her. 

But  the  sound  brought  a  scared  look  to  the  face  of 
Mistress  Fraser. 

"She's  lauchin',  I  declare!"  she  cried;  "that's  an 
awesome  bad  sign.  Guid  kens  hoo  mony  there  may  be 
by  this  time " 

And  she  fairly  lifted  her  voluminous  petticoats,  and, 
with  her  bundles  under  her  arm,  ran  helter-skelter  for  the 
door  of  Sandyknowes,  more  like  a  halfling  lassie  than  a 
douce  mother  of  eleven  bairns. 

Muckle  Alick  saw  her  fairly  in  at  the  kitchen  door. 

"  I  think  I'll  gang  ower  by  to  the  barn,"  he  said. 

But  he  had  not  got  more  than  half-way  there  when 


212  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

both  leaves  of  the  kitchen  door  sprang  open,  and  out  flew 
Mistress  Eraser  with  the  large  wooden  pot-stick  or  spurtle 
in  her  hand.  Alick  had  admired  her  performance  as  she 
ran  towards  the  house.  But  it  was  nothing  to  the  speed 
with  which  she  now  bore  down  upon  him. 

"  It  was  like  the  boat  train  coming  doon  by  the  Stroan, 
ten  minutes  ahint  time,  an'  a  director  on  board ! "  he  said 
afterwards. 

At  the  time  Muckle  Alick  had  too  many  things  to 
think  about,  to  say  anything  whatever.  He  ran  towards 
the  barn  as  fast  as  he  could  for  the  choking  laughter 
which  convulsed  him.  And  behind  him  sped  the  avenger 
with  the  uplifted  porridge  spurtle,  crying,  "  0  ye  muckle 
leein'  deevil — ye  blackguaird — ye  cunnin'  hound,  let  me 
catch  ye " 

And  by  the  cheek  of  the  barn  door  catch  him  Mistress 
Fraser  did.  And  then,  immediately  after,  it  was  Muckle 
Alick  who  received  the  reward  of  iniquity.  But  Mirren 
stood  in  the  doorway  with  little  Gavin  in  her  arms  and 
Vara  and  Boy  Hugh  at  either  side,  and  laughed  till  the 
tears  ran  down  her  cheeks  in  twin  parallel  rills. 

"Gie  him  his  paiks,  and  soundly,  Mistress  Fraser; 
pink  him  weel.  Hit  him  on  the  knuckles  or  on  the 
elbows.  Ye  micht  as  weel  hit  Ben  Gairn  as  try  to  hurt 
him  by  hitting  him  on  the  head ! " 

Alick  was  speechless  with  laughter,  but  Mistress  Fra- 
ser exclaimed  with  each  resounding  stroke,  "  Twa  laddies 
and  a  lassie !  0  ye  vermin ! — And  me  has  sent  to  the 
Folds  and  the  Cowdenslacks  for  twa  cradles  to  mak'  up 
the  three.  Ye  hae  made  a  bonny  fule  o'  me.  I'll  never 
hear  the  last  o'  it  till  my  dying  day  in  this  countryside. 
But,  at  ony  rate,  I  take  my  piper's  pay  in  ha'pence  out  o' 
your  skin,  my  man  Alick  I " 


MUCKLE  ALICK  CONSIDERS.  243 

ADVENTUKE  XLIL 

MUCKLE   ALICK   CONSIDERS. 

"ISToo  that  the  collyshangie's  dune,"  quoth  Mh-reu 
Douglas,  "ye  micht  gie  us  a  word  o'  advice  what  we 
should  do  wi'  the  bairns.  But  come  cot  by.  They  are  a' 
to  their  beds  doon  the  hoose.  And  we  can  be  takin'  a 
look  at  the  blossoms  as  we  gang." 

"  We  are  to  plant  cabbage  here  next  year.  Mistress 
Eraser  says ! "  cried  Muckle  Alick. 

"  Havers  !  "  said  his  wife.  But  Mistress  Eraser  gave 
Alick  a  look  which  said  as  plain  as  print,  "  Have  you  not 
had  enough  ?  " 

"  Heard  ye  what  the  name  o'  the  puir  wandering 
things  might  be  ?  "  asked  Mistress  Eraser. 

"  Aye,"  said  Mirren,  briskly,  "  I  hae  heard  a'  aboot  it. 
Their  name  is  Kavannah.  Their  faither  gaed  awa'  to 
Liverpool  a  whilie  since  to  seek  wark.  And  the  bairns 
has  left  their  mither  in  Edinburgh  to  seek  their  faither. 
And  I  judge  their  mither  is  a  gye  ill  yin." 

"  Did  she  tell  ye  that  ?  "  asked  Muckle  Alick,  quickly. 

"Na,  but  I  jalloused  it!  "*  said  his  wife. 

"  And  hoo  in  the  world  could  ye  jallouse  sic  a  thing 
as  that  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Just  the  way  ye  jallouse  that  the  express  is  comin' 
when  ye  hear  the  whistle,  and  the  signal  draps  to  '  clear,' 
ye  muckle  nowt !  "  said  his  wife,  taking  what  is  known  as 
a  personal  example. 

"  The  lassie  didna  tell  me  yae  single  word,  but  the  boy 
showed  me  an  arr-mark  on  his  temple.  *The  awfu' 
woman  did  that ! '  says  he. 

*  Shrewdly  suspected  it. 


214  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"'And  wha's  the  awfu'  woman,  my  bonny  man?' 
says  I. 

"  The  lassie  tried  to  turn  him,  but  he  oot  wi'  it.  '  It's 
just  my  mither  ! '  says  he.  And  if  ye  didna  caa  that  a 
gye  near  signal,  I  ken  na  what  is.  It's  as  plain  as  findin' 
bits  o'  a  dog  collar  in  the  sausage  or  a  burn  troot  in  the 
milk  ! " 

But  her  husband  did  not  laugh,  as  he  usually  did  at 
her  sayings.  His  own  humour  was  not  of  that  kind,  but 
slow,  ponderous,  and  deliberate. 

"  What  are  ye  standin'  there  gapin'  at  ?  "  demanded 
his  wife. 

Alick  held  up  his  hand.  His  wife  knew  that  this  was  a 
signal  that  he  wished  to  be  left  to  think  undisturbed  a  little 
longer.  So  she  hurried  Mistress  Fraser  along  to  look  at 
what  she  called  her  "  nasty-hurcheons."  Sandy's  mental 
machinery,  like  his  bodily,  was  slow  to  set  in  motion,  but 
it  worked  with  great  momentum  when  once  it  was  set 
a-going. 

Muckle  Alick  was  putting  two  and  two  together. 

"  I  ken  a'  aboot  it,"  he  said  at  length,  when  the  process 
was  complete.  "We  will  need  to  be  awesome  careful. 
Thae  bairns'  faither  never  got  to  Liverpool ;  consequently 
it's  little  use  them  gaun  there  to  seek  him.  He's  either 
in  his  grave  or  the  Edinburgh  Infirmary.  D'ye  mind  yon 
tramp  man  that  gat  the  hurt  in  his  head  last  spring,  by 
hiding  and  sleepin'  in  the  cattle  waggons  when  they  were 
shuntin'  ?  His  name  was  James  Kavannah.  I'se  warrant 
he  was  the  bairns'  faither  !  " 

Mirren  Douglas  gave  Muckle  Alick  a  bit  clap  on  the 
shoulder. 

"  Whiles  ye  are  nane  so  stupid,  man,"  she  said,  "  I  be- 
lieve ye  are  richt." 

"And  he  was  on  his  road  to  Liverpool,  too,"  added 


MUCKLE  ALICK  CONSIDERS.  2^5 

Alick,  "  for  when  he  was  oot  o'  his  mind  he  cried  on 
aboot  that  a'  the  time.  And  aye  the  owerword  o'  his 
sang  was,  "  She'll  no  get  me  in  Liverpool ! '  " 

His  wife  looked  at  Alick.  And  Muckle  Alick  looked 
at  Mirren. 

"  We'll  keep  them  awhile,  onyway,  till  they  can  get  a 
better  hame.  The  lassie  will  soon  be  braw  and  handy," 
said  Mirren. 

"  I'm  thinkin',"  said  Alick,  "  that  the  flower-beds  will 
hae  to  come  up  after  a',  and  we'll  plant  taties  if  the  por- 
ridge pot  shows  signs  o'  wearin'  empty." 

It  was  thus  that  our  three  wanderers  found  a  place  of 
lodgment  in  the  wilderness  in  the  kindly  house  of  Sandy- 
knowes. 

"  There's  my  sister  Margaret  up  at  Loch  Spellanderie," 
said  Mistress  Eraser  ;  "  she  was  tellin'  me  on  Monday  that 
she  was  wantin'  a  lass.  She's  no  very  easy  to  leeve  wi',  I 
ken.  But  she  will  gie  a  guid  wage,  and  the  lass  would 
get  an  insicht  into  country  wark  there.  It  micht  be 
worth  while  thinkin'  aboot." 

"  It  is  kind  o'  ye  to  think  o't,"  said  Mirren,  doubt- 
fully. 

"  0,"  replied  Mistress  Fraser,  "  I'm  nane  so  sure  o' 
that.  As  I  tell  ye,  oor  Meg  is  nane  o'  the  easiest  to  serve. 
But,  as  the  guid  Buik  says,  it's  a  good  and  siccar  lesson 
for  the  young  to  bear  the  yoke  in  their  youth." 

"An'  I'm  sure  thae  puir  bairns  hae  had  their  share 
o't,"  said  Muckle  Alick. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Mistress  Fraser,  as  she  prepared  to 
take  her  leave,  "  that  ye  canna  keep  your  thumb  on  the 
joke  aboot  the  twa  laddies  and  a  lassie.  Na,  it's  no  to  be 
expected  o'  you,  Mirren.  It's  ower  guid  a  tale  to  tell, 
specially  on  me,  that  aye  prided  mysel'  on  letting  naebody 
draw  my  leg.     But  ye  did  me  to  richts  this  time,  ye  great 


216  ^i^^^  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

stirk — to  bring  me  fleein'  ower  here  wi'  my  coaties  kilted 
as  if  I  had  the  back-door  trot,  a'  to  see  three  newly-come- 
hame  bairns,  and  the  auldest  o'  them  near  woman  muckle. 
And  the  loon  that  gaed  me  the  cheat  an  elder  o'  the  kirk  ! 
Sorrow  till  ye,  Alick,  but  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to 
clour  your  lugs  even  yet." 

"Ye  hae  my  richt  guidwull,"  said  Mirren,  encour- 
agingly. 

But  Muckle  Alick  only  laughed.  Then  Tam  Fraser 
came  in  seeking  his  wife. 

"  I  hae  been  hearin'  a'  aboot  your  daft  ploy,  rinnin'  in 
front  o'  the  engine  and  gettin'  dunted  oot  o'  the  road," 
said  he.  "  Some  folk  was  threepin'  that  it  was  awesome 
brave  o'  ye,  but  I  think  it  was  juist  a  daft,  rackless  triflin' 
wi'  Providence.     That's  my  thocht  on't." 

"  What  was  that  ?  I  hae  heard  tell  o'  it  for  the  first 
time,"  said  Mirren.  "  But  that's  nae  new  thing  in  this 
hoose.  Alick's  married  wife  is  aye  the  last  to  hear  o'  his 
daft-like  doin's." 

"  0,  nocht  very  special  this  time,"  said  Tam  Eraser. 
"  He  only  threw  a  hundred  and  six  Irish  drovers  oot  o'  a 
third  story  window  ower  the  engine  o'  the  Port  express, 
but  there's  nae  mair  than  ten  o'  them  dead.  And  then 
he  louped  in  front  on  an  engine  gaun  at  full  speed  and  to 
draw  some  bairns  f rae  below  the  wheels,"  said  Tam  Fraser, 
giving  the  local  version,  corrected  to  date. 

"  Is  this  true  ?  "  said  his  wife  severely,  fixing  her  eyes 
npon  Alick  with  a  curious  expression  in  them. 

"  There's  juist  aboot  as  muckle  truth  in  it  as  there  is 
in  maist  Netherby  stories  for  common,  after  they  hae  got- 
ten ten  minutes'  start,"  said  Muckle  Alick. 

'*  What  is  your  version  o't  ?  "  said  his  wife,  never  taking 
her  eyes  off  her  husband. 

"  0,  it  was  naething  to  tell  aboot,"  said  Muckle  Alick. 


TOWN  KNIGHT  AND  COUNTRY  KNIGHT.        247 

"  There  was  some  drovers  in  a  carriage  where  they  had 
nae  business,  and  they  wadna  come  oot,  till  I  gaed  in  to 
them — and  then  they  cam'  oot !  And  the  wee  laddie  an' 
the  bairn  were  comin'  alang  the  line  afore  the  engine. 
And  Geordie  couldna  stop.  So  I  gied  them  a  bit  yirk  oot 
and  gat  a  dunch  in  the  back  wi'  the  buffer." 

Mirren  took  her  husband  by  the  rough  velveteen  coat- 
sleeve. 

"  My  man ! "  she  said,  rubbing  her  cheek  against  it. 
"  But  what  for  did  ye  no  tell  me?  " 

"  I  was  gaun  to  tell  ye  the  morn's  morn  in',"  said  Alick. 
"  There  was  nae  harm  dune,  ye  see,  but  yin  o'  my  gallus 
buttons  riven  off  an'  the  buffer  of  Geordie's  engine 
smashed.  I  was  gaun  to  tell  ye  in  the  mornin'  aboot  the 
button  needing  sewin'  on." 

"  Did  ye  ever  see  siccan  auld  fules,"  said  Tarn  Eraser, 
as  he  and  his  wife  went  home,  "  rubbin'  her  cheek  again 
his  airm,  that's  as  thick  as  a  pump  theekit  frae  the  frost 
wi'  strae  rapes  ?  " 

"  Hand  your  tongue,  Tam,"  said  his  wife,  whose  tem- 
per had  suffered ;  "  if  I  had  a  man  like  that  I  wad  rub 
my  cheek  against  his  trouser  leg,  gin  it  pleasured  him,  the 
day  by  the  length." 


ADVENTURE  XLIIL 

TOW]^   KNIGHT   AND   COUKTRY   KNIGHT. 

Mr.  Cleg  Kelly  awoke  early  on  the  day  upon  which 
he  was  to  make  the  bold  adventure  of  getting  to  ISTetherby 
Junction  without  enriching  the  railway  company  by  the 
amount  of  his  fare.  But  his  conscience  was  clean ;  he 
was  going  to  work  his  passage.     It  is  true  that  neither 


248  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

the  general  manager  nor  yet  the  traffic  inspector  had  been 
consulted  in  the  matter.  But  for  the  sake  of  Cleg's 
friend  (to  be  exact,  Cleaver's  boy's  sweetheart's  fellow- 
servant,  cook  at  Bailie  Holden's),  Duncan  Urquhart  was 
willing  (and  he  believed  able)  to  engineer  Cleg's  passage 
to  Xetherby  without  fee  or  reward. 

Duncan  was  friendly  with  the  guard  of  his  goods 
train,  which  is  a  thing  not  too  common  with  those  who 
have  to  run  goods  trains  together,  week  in  and  week  out. 
The  shunting  at  night  in  particular  is  wearing  to  the 
temper,  especially  in  the  winter  time,  when  it  is  mostly 
dark  in  an  hour  or  two  whenever  your  train  happens  to 
start. 

"  Can  you  stand  there  and  turn  a  brake  ?  "  said  Dun- 
can to  Cleg,  setting  him  in  a  small  compartment  by  him- 
self ;  "  screw  her  up  whenever  we  are  running  downhill. 
Ye  will  ken  when  by  the  gurring  and  shaking." 

Mr.  Duncan  Urquhart  was  a  very  different  man  dur- 
ing the  day,  to  the  gay  and  gallant  evening  caller  who 
had  won  the  easy-melted  heart  of  the  cook  at  Holden's — 
w^hich  a  disappointed  suitor  once  said  bitterly  was  made 
of  dripping.  He  was  very  grimy ;  he  spoke  but  seldom, 
and  then  mostly  in  the  highly  imaginative  and  meta- 
phorical language  popular  on  the  Greenock  and  South- 
Eastern.  Duncan  Urquhart,  as  has  already  been  men- 
tioned, was  quite  a  first-class  swearer,  and  had  an  origi- 
nality not  common  among  engineers,  which  he  owed  to 
his  habit  of  translating  literally  from  the  Gaelic.  Also, 
though  he  swore  incessantly,  he  never  defiled  his  mouth 
with  profanity,  but  confined  himself  assiduously  to  per- 
sonal abuse,  which,  if  less  sonorous,  is  infinitely  more  irri- 
tating to  the  swearee. 

So  hour  after  hour  Cleg  stood  in  the  train  and  was 
hurled   and  shaken  southwards  towards  Netherby.     He 


TOWN  KNIGHT  AND  COUNTRY  KNIGHT.        249 

helped  at  the  shunting,  coupling,  and  uncoupling  with  the 
best.  For,  from  his  ancient  St.  Leonards  experience,  he 
could  run  the  coal-waggons  to  their  lies  as  well  as  a  profes- 
sional. And  though  his  occupations  had  been  varied  and 
desultory,  Cleg  was  a  born  worker.  He  always  saw  merely 
the  bit  of  work  before  him,  and  he  set  his  teeth  into  it 
(as  he  said  picturesquely)  till  he  had  clawed  his  way 
through. 

Thus  it  was  that  Cleg  found  himself  at  ^t^etherby 
Junction  one  Saturday  night  at  six  o'clock.  It  was  the 
first  time  he  had  ever  been  further  than  the  confines  of 
the  Queen's  Park.  And  his  vision  of  the  country  came  to 
him  as  it  were  in  one  day.  He  saw  teams  driving  afield. 
He  saw  the  mowers  in  the  swathes  of  hay.  He  watched 
with  keen  delight  the  grass  fall  cleanly  before  the  scythe, 
and  the  point  of  the  blade  stand  out  at  each  stroke  six 
inches  from  under  the  fallen  sweep  of  dewy  grass. 

"  N'etherby  Junction !  Guidnicht ! "  said  Duncan  Ur- 
quhart,  briefly.  He  had  an  appointment  to  keep  with  the 
provost's  cook,  who  was  also  partial  to  well-bearded  men 
with  blue  pilot-cloth  jackets.  Duncan  would  not  have 
been  in  such  a  hurry,  but  for  the  fact  that  it  took  him 
half  an  hour  to  clean  himself.  He  knew  that  half  an 
hour  when  you  go  a-courting,  and  when  the  other  fellow 
may  get  there  first,  is  of  prime  importance. 

Now,  as  Cleg  Kelly  stepped  out  upon  the  cattle-land- 
ing bank,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  biggest  man  he  had 
ever  seen,  walking  slowly  along  the  white  dusty  road 
which  led  out  of  the  passenger  station.  He  was  swinging 
his  arms  wide  of  his  sides,  as  very  big  and  broad  men  al- 
ways do. 

Cleg  sped  after  him  at  top  speed  and  took  a  tour  round 
him  before  he  spoke.     The  big  man  paid  no  attention, 
walking  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground. 
17 


250  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  Are  ye  the  man  that  pitched  oot  the  drovers  ?  "  said 
Cleg  at  last,  coming  to  anchor  in  front  of  the  giant. 

Muckle  Alick  stopped  in  the  road,  as  much  surprised 
as  though  the  town  clock  had  spoken  to  him.  For  Cleg 
put  a  smartness  and  fire  in  his  question  to  which  the  boys 
about  Netherby  were  strangers. 

"  Where  come  ye  f rae  ?  "  he  said  to  Cleg. 

"I  come  from  Edinburgh  to  see  Vara  Kavannah," 
said  Cleg.     "  Is  she  biding  wi'  you  ?  " 

"  She  was,  till  yestreen,"  said  Alick. 

"And  where  is  she  noo?"  said  Cleg,  buckling  up  his 
trousers. 

"She  is  gane  to  serve  at  Loch  Spellanderie  by  the 
Water  o'  Ae !  "  said  Alick. 

"  And  how  far  micht  that  be  ?  "  asked  Cleg,  finishing 
his  preparations. 

"  Three  mile  and  a  bittock  up  that  road ! "  said  Muckle 
Alick,  pointing  with  his  finger  to  a  well-made  dusty  road 
which  went  in  the  direction  of  the  hills. 

"  Guidnicht ! "  cried  Cleg,  shortly.  And  was  off  at 
racing  pace. 

Muckle  Alick  watched  him  out  of  sight. 

"  That  cowes  a' ! "  he  said,  "  to  think  that  I  could  yince 
rin  like  that  to  see  a  lass.  But  the  deil's  in  the  loon. 
He's  surely  braw  an  early  begun  ! " 

Then  Muckle  Alick  went  round  and  told  his  wife. 

"  It  will  be  the  laddie  f rae  Enbra  that  got  them  the 
wark  in  the  mill,  and  gied  up  his  wood  hut  to  the  bairns 
to  leeve  in.  What  for  did  ye  no  bring  him  to  see  Hugh 
Boy  and  the  bairn  ?  " 

"  I  dinna  ken  that  he  gied  me  the  chance,"  said  Alick. 
"  He  was  aff  like  a  shot  to  Loch  Spellanderie.  I  wad  gie 
a  shilling  to  hear  what  Mistress  McWalter  will  say  to 
him  when  he  gets  there.     I  houp  that  it'll  no  make  her 


# 


TOWN  KNIGHT  AND   COUNTRY  KNIGHT.        251 

unkind  to  the  lassie !  If  it  does,  I'll  speak  to  her  man. 
And  at  the  warst  she  can  aye  come  back  to  us.  At  a 
pinch  we  could  be  doing  without  her  wage  ! " 

"Aweel,"  said  his  wife,  "the  loon  will  be  near  there 
by  this  time." 

And  the  loon  was. 

Cleg  was  just  turning  up  over  the  hill  road  towards 
Loch  Spellanderie,  when  he  heard  that  most  heartsome 
sound  to  the  ear  of  a  country  boy — the  clatter  of  the  pas- 
ture bars  when  the  kye  are  coming  home.  It  is  a  sound 
thrilling  with  reminiscences  of  dewy  eves,  or  heartsome 
lowsing  times,  of  f  orenichts  with  the  lasses,  and  of  all  that 
to  a  country  lad  makes  life  worth  living. 

But  to  Cleg  the  rattle  of  the  bars  meant  none  of  these 
things.  Two  people  were  standing  by  the  gate — a  boy 
and  a  girl.  Cleg  thought  he  would  ask  them  if  this  was 
the  right  road  to  Loch  Spellanderie. 

But  as  he  came  nearer  he  saw  that  the  girl  was  Vara 
herself.  She  was  in  close  and,  apparently,  very  friendly 
talk  with  a  stranger — a  tall  lad  with  a  face  like  one  of 
the  white  statues  in  the  museum,  at  which  Cleg  had  often 
peeped  wonderingly  on  free  days  when  it  was  cold  or  rain- 
ing outside. 

"  Vara  ! "  cried  Cleg,  leaping  forward  towards  his  friend. 

"  Cleg !  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  said  Vara  Kavan- 
nah,  holding  out  her  hand. 

But  there  was  something  in  her  manner  that  froze 
Cleg.  He  had  come  with  a  glowing  heart.  He  had  over- 
come difficulties.  And  now  she  did  not  seem  much  more 
glad  to  see  him  than  she  had  been  to  talk  with  this  young 
interloper  at  the  gate  of  the  field. 

"  This  is  Kit  Kennedy,"  said  Vara,  with  a  feeling  that 
she  must  by  her  tactf  ulness  carry  off  an  awkward  situation. 

"  0  it  is,  is  it  ?  "  said  Cleg,  ungraciously. 


252  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

Vara  went  on  hastily  to  tell  Cleg  about  the  children — 
how  well  and  how  happy  they  were,  how  Gavin  was  twice 
the  weight  he  had  been,  how  Hugh  Boy  ran  down  the 
road  each  night  to  meet  Muckle  Alick,  and  how  she  was 
now  able  to  keep  herself,  besides  helping  a  little  to  sup- 
port Hugh  and  Gavin  also. 

Cleg  stood  sulkily  scraping  the  earth  with  the  toe  of 
his  boot.  Kit  Kennedy  left  them  together,  and  was  going 
off  with  the  cows  towards  the  byre.  He  had  seen  a  tall, 
gaunt  woman,  who  was  not  to  be  trifled  with,  walking 
through  the  courtyard,  and  he  knew  it  was  time  to  take 
the  kye  in. 

Vara  stopped  talking  to  Cleg  somewhat  quickly.  For 
she  also  had  seen  Mistress  McWalter.  She  walked  away 
towards  the  farm.     Cleg  and  Kit  were  left  alone. 

Quick  as  lightning  Cleg  thrust  his  arm  before  Kit 
Kennedy's  face. 

"  Spit  ower  that ! "  he  said. 

Kit  hesitated  and  turned  away. 

"I  dinna  want  to  fecht  ye!"  he  said,  for  he  knew 
what  was  meant. 

"  Ye  are  feared ! "  said  Cleg,  tauntingly. 

Kit  Kennedy  executed  the  feat  in  hydraulics  required 
of  him. 

"  After  kye  time,"  said  he,  "  at  the  back  o'  the  barn." 

Cleg  nodded  dourly. 

"  I'll  learn  ye  to  let  my  lass  alane  ! "  said  the  town  boy. 

"  I  dinna  gie  a  button  for  your  lass,  or  ony  ither  lass. 
Forbye  there  was  nae  ticket  on  her  that  I  could  see ! " 
answered  he  of  the  country. 

"  Aweel,"  said  Cleg ;  "  then  I'll  warm  ye  for  sayin'  that 
ye  wadna  gie  a  button  for  her.  I'm  gaun  to  lick  ye  at 
ony  rate." 

" To  fecht  me,  ye  mean?"  said  Kit  Kennedy,  quietly. 


CLEG  RELAPSES  INTO  PAGANISM.  26*3 

Thus  was  gage  of  battle  offered  and  accepted  betwixt 
Cleg  Kelly  and  Kit  Kennedy. 


ADVENTURE  XLIV. 

CLEG   RELAPSES   INTO   PAGANISM. 

The  lists  of  Ashby  were  closed.  The  heralds  and 
pursuivants  did  their  devoirs,  and  the  trumpets  rang 
out  a  haughty  peal.  Or  at  least  to  that  effect,  as  fol- 
io weth  : 

"  Come  on ! "  said  Cleg  Kelly. 

"  Come  on  yourseP  ! "  said  Kit  Kennedy. 

"  Ye're  feared,"  cried  the  Knight  of  the  City,  making 
a  hideous  face. 

"  Wha's  feared  ?  "  replied  the  Knight  of  the  Country, 
his  fists  twirling  like  Catherine  wheels.  The  boys  slowly 
revolved  round  one  another.  It  was  like  the  solar  system, 
only  on  a  somewhat  smaller  scale.  For  first  of  all  their 
fists  revolved  separately  round  each  other,  then  each  com- 
batant revolved  on  his  own  axis,  and  lastly,  very  slowly 
and  in  a  dignified  manner,  they  revolved  round  one 
another. 

All  this  happened  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  at  the 
back  of  the  barn  at  the  farmhouse  of  Loch  Spellanderie. 
It  was  after  the  kye  had  all  been  milked  and  Vara  Kavan- 
nah  was  in  the  house  clearing  away  the  porridge  dishes, 
while  the  mistress  put  the  fretful  children  to  bed  with  an 
accompanying  chorus  of  scoldings,  slappings,  and  wailings 
of  the  smitten. 

As  the  lads  stood  stripped  for  fight  Cleg  was  a  little 
taller  than  Kit  Kennedy,  and  he  had  all  the  experience 


254  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

which  comes  of  many  previous  combats.  But  then  he 
was  not,  like  Kit  Kennedy,  thrice  armed,  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  justice  of  his  quarreL 

"  Come  on,"  cried  Cleg  again,  working  up  his  temper- 
ature to  flash  point,  "  ye  gawky,  ill-jointed,  bullock-headed, 
slack-twisted  clod-thumper,  ye !  See  gin  I  canna  knock 
the  conceit  oot  o'  ye  in  a  hop,  skip,  and  jump !  I  hae 
come  frae  Edinburgh  to  do  it.  I'll  learn  you  to  tak'  up 
wi'  my  lass  !     Come  on,  ye  puir  Cripple-Dick !  " 

And  at  that  precise  moment  Kit  Kennedy,  after  many 
invitations,  very  suddenly  did  come  on.  Cleg,  whose  pas- 
sion blinded  him  to  his  own  hurt,  happened  to  be  leaning 
rather  far  forward.  It  is  customary  in  the  giving  of 
"  dares  "  round  about  the  Sooth  Back,  for  the  threatener 
to  stick  his  head  as  far  forward  as  he  can  and  shake  it 
rapidly  up  and  down  in  a  ferocious  and  menacing  manner. 
This  ought  to  continue,  according  to  the  rules,  for  fully 
ten  minutes,  after  which  the  proceedings  may  commence 
or  not  according  to  circumstances.  But  Kit  Kennedy, 
farm  assistant  to  Mistress  McWalter  of  Loch  Spellanderie, 
was  an  igno'rant  boy.  He  had  had  few  advantages.  He 
did  not  even  know  the  rules  appertaining  to  personal  com- 
bats, nor  when  exactly  was  the  correct  time  to  accept  an 
invitation  and  "  come  on." 

So  that  was  the  reason  why  Cleg  Kelly's  left  eye  came 
unexpectedly  in  violent  contact  with  Kit's  knuckles. 
These  were  as  hard  with  rough  labour  as  a  bullock's 
hind  leg. 

The  sudden  sting  of  the  pain  had  the  effect  of  making 
Cleg  still  more  vehemently  angry.  "  I'll  learn  you,"  he 
shouted,  "  ye  sufferin',  shairny  blastie  o'  the  byres,  to 
strike  afore  a  man's  ready.  You  fecht!  Ye  can  nae 
mair  fecht  than  a  Portobello  bobbie  !  Wait  till  I  hae  dune 
wi'  ye,  my  man.     There'll  no  be  as  muckle  left  o'  ye  as  wad 


CLEG  RELAPSES  INTO  PAGANISM.  255 

make  cat-meat  to  a  week-auld  kittlin'.  What  for  can  ye 
nofechtfair?" 

Our  hero's  cause  was  so  bad,  and  his  lapse  into  hea- 
thenism became  at  this  point  so  pronounced,  that  for 
the  sake  of  all  that  has  been  we  decline  to  report  the  re- 
mainder of  his  speech. 

But  Kit  Kennedy  did  not  wait  on  any  further  pre- 
liminaries. 

Ding-dong  I  went  his  fists,  one  on  Cleg's  other  eye  and 
the  other  squarely  on  his  chest.  Cleg  was  speaking  at  the 
time,  and  the  latter  blow  (as  he  afterwards  said)  fairly 
took  the  words  from  him  and  made  him  "  roop  "  like  a 
hen  trying  to  crow  like  a  cock. 

At  this  terrible  breach  of  all  laws  made  and  promul- 
gated for  the  proper  conduct  of  pitched  battles,  what  re- 
mained of  Cleg's  temper  suddenly  gave  way.  He  rushed 
at  Kit  Kennedy,  striking  at  him  as  hard  as  he  could, 
without  the  slightest  regard  to  science.  But  Kit  Kennedy 
was  staunch,  and  did  not  yield  an  inch,  l^ever  had  the 
barn  end  of  Loch  Spellanderie  witnessed  such  a  combat. 
Cleg,  on  his  part,  interpolated  constant  remarks  of  a  dis- 
paraging kind,  such  as  "  Tak'  that,  ye  seefer ! "  "  That'll 
do  for  ye  ! "  But  Kit  Kennedy,  on  the  other  hand,  fought 
silently.  The  most  notable  thing,  however,  about  the 
combat  was  that  in  the  struggle  neither  of  the  knights 
took  the  slightest  pains  to  ward  off  the  other's  blows. 
They  were  entirely  engrossed  in  getting  in  their  own. 

The  dust  flew  bravely  from  their  jackets,  until  the 
noise  resembled  the  quick,  irregular  beating  of  carpets 
more  than  anything  else.  But,  after  all,  not  very  much 
harm  was  done,  and  their  clothes  could  hardly  have  been 
damaged  by  half  a  dozen  Waterloos.  It  was  like  to  be  a 
drawn  battle,  for  neither  combatant  would  give  in.  All 
Cleg's  activity  and  waspishness  was  met  and  held  by  the 


256  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

country  boy  with  dogged  persistency  and  massive  rustic 
strength.  Cleg  was  lissom  as  a  willow  wand,  Kit  tough 
and  sturdy  as  an  oak  bough.  And  if  Cleg  avoided  the 
most  blows,  he  felt  more  severely  those  which  did  get 
home. 

Thus,  not  unequally,  the  battle  raged,  till  the  noise  of 
it  passed  all  restraint.  John  Mc Walter  of  Loch  Spellan- 
derie  was  making  his  evening  rounds.  As  he  went  into 
the  barn  he  heard  a  tremendous  disturbance  at  the  back 
among  his  last  year's  corn-stacks.  He  listened  eagerly, 
standing  on  one  foot  to  do  it.  The  riot  was  exceedingly 
mysterious.  Very  cautiously  he  opened  the  top  half  of 
the  barn  door  and  peered  through.  It  might  be  an  ill-set 
tinker  come  to  steal  corn.  John  McWalter  had  Tweed 
and  Tyke  with  him,  and  they  frisked  their  tails  and  gave 
each  a  little  muffled  bark  to  intimate  that  they  should 
much  like  to  join  in  the  fray. 

John  McWalter  was  not  used  to  facing  difficult  posi- 
tions on  his  own  responsibility,  so  quite  as  cautiously  he 
slipped  back  again  through  the  barn,  and  crossed  the  yard 
to  the  house. 

His  wife  was  actively  engaged  scolding  Vara  for  wasir- 
ing  too  much  hot  water  in  cleaning  the  supper  bowls. 
This  happened  every  evening,  and  Vara  did  not  greatly 
mind.    It  saved  her  from  being  faulted  for  something  new. 

"Ye  lazy,  guid-f or-naething ! "  Mrs.  McWalter  was 
saying,  "  I  wonder  what  for  my  daft  sister  at  ISTetherby 
sent  a  useless,  handless,  upsetting  monkey  like  you  to  a 
decent  house — a  besom  that  will  neither  work  nor  yet 
learn '^ 

At  this  moment  John  McWalter  put  his  head  within 
the  door. 

"  There's  twa  ill-set  loons  killin'  yin  anither  ahint  the 
barn ! "  he  said. 


CLEa  RELAPSES  INTO  PAGANISM.  257 

"  What's  that  gotten  to  do  wi'  it,  guidman,"  replied 
his  wife.  "  Guid  life  !  Ye  cry  in  that  sudden  I  thought 
it  was  twa  o'  the  kye  hornin'  yin  anither.  But  what  care 
I  for  loons  ?  Juist  e'en  let  them  kill  yin  anither.  There 
ower  great  plenty  o'  them  aboot  Loch  Spellanderie  at  ony 
rate !  Ill  plants  0'  a  graceless  stock.  Never  was  a  Mc- 
Walter  yet  worth  his  brose ! " 

"  But,"  said  her  husband,  "  it's  Kit  Kennedy  fechtin' 
wi'  a  stranger  loon  that  I  never  saw  afore !  And  I  dinna 
believe  he  has  foddered  the  horse ! " 

Mistress  Mc Walter  snatched  up  the  poker. 

"  Him,"  she  cried,  "  the  idle,  regairdless  hound,  what 
can  the  like  o'  him  be  thinkin'  aboot?  I'll  learn  him. 
Gin  he  gets  himsel'  killed  fechting  wi'  tinklers  for  his  ain 
pleesure,  wha  is  to  look  the  sheep  and  bring  in  the  kye  in 
the  mornin'  ?     And  the  morn  kirnin'  day  too  !  " 

So  in  the  interests  of  the  coming  hour  at  which  the 
week's  cream  wa«  to  be  churned  into  butter,  and  from  no 
regard  whatever  for  her  nephew's  life  or  limb,  the  mis- 
tress of  Loch  Spellanderie  hasted  out  to  interfere  in  the 
deadly  struggle.  But  Vara  Kavannah  was  before  her. 
She  flew  out  of  the  kitchen  door,  and  ran  round  the 
house.  The  Mc  Walters  followed  as  best  they  could,  her 
mistress  calling  vainly  on  her  to  go  back  and  wash 
the  dishes. 

When  Vara  turned  the  corner.  Cleg  and  Kit  were  still 
pelting  at  it  without  the  least  sign  of  abating  interest. 
Cleg  was  now  darting  hither  and  thither,  and  getting  in 
a  blow  wherever  he  could.  Kit  was  standing  doggedly 
firm,  only  wheeling  on  his  legs  as  on  a  pivot,  far  enough 
to  meet  the  town  boy's  rushes.  It  was  a  beautiful  combat, 
and  the  equality  of  it  had  very  nearly  knocked  all  the  ill- 
nature  out  of  them.  Kespect  for  each  other  was  growing 
up  in  their  several  bosoms,  and  if  only  they  could  have 


258  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITr. 

stopped  simultaneously  they  would  have  been  glad  enough 
to  shake  hands. 

So  when  Vara  came  flying  round  the  corner  and  ran 
between  them,  the  boys  were  quite  willing  to  be  separated, 
indeed  even  thankful. 

"  Eun,  quick  ! "  she  cried  to  Cleg,  "  they  are  comin'. 
0  haste  ye  fast !  " 

But  Cleg  did  not  know  any  respect  for  the  powers  that 
be.  He  knew  that  the  ordinary  bobby  of  commerce  did 
not  dwell  in  the  country.  And  besides,  even  if  he  did, 
the  lad  who  could  race  red -headed  Finnigan,  the  cham- 
pion runner  of  the  Edinburgh  force,  and  who  had  proved 
himself  without  disgrace  against  the  fastest  fire  engine  in 
the  city,  was  not  likely  to  be  caught,  even  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  he  had  run  all  the  way  from  Netherby  Junction 
that  night  already. 

So  Cleg  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  Vara's  entreaties,  and, 
very  simply  and  like  a  hero,  wiped  his  face  with  the  tail 
of  his  coat. 

Kit  Kennedy  also  kept  his  place,  a  fact  which  deserves 
recognition.  For  he,  on  his  part,  faced  a  peril  long  known 
and  noted.  The  mystery  of  unknown  and  unproven  dan- 
ger did  not  fascinate  him. 

In  a  moment  more  Mistress  McWalter,  a  tall,  mascu- 
line woman,  with  untidy  hair  of  frosty  blue-black,  came 
tearing  round  the  corner,  while  at  the  same  time  out  of 
the  back  barn  door  issued  John  McWalter,  armed  with  a 
pitchfork,  and  followed  by  Tweed  and  Tyke,  the  clamour- 
ous shepherding  dogs  of  Loch  Spellanderie. 

Cleg  found  his  position  completely  turned,  and  he 
himself  beset  on  all  sides.  For  behind  him  the  Loch  lay 
black  and  deep.  And  in  front  the  wall  of  the  barn  fairly 
shut  him  in  between  his  enemies.  Mistress  McWalter 
dealt  Kit  Kennedy  a  blow  with  the  poker  upon  his  shoul- 


CLEG  RELAPSES  INTO  PAGANISM.  259 

der  as  she  passed.  But  this  was  simply,  as  it  were,  a  pay- 
ment on  account,  ioihis  final  settlement  could  be  de- 
ferred. Then,  never  pausing  once  in  her  stride,  she 
rushed  towards  Cleg  Kelly.  But  she  did  not  know  the 
manifold  wiles  of  a  trained  athlete  of  the  Sooth  Back. 
For  this  kind  of  irregular  guerilla  warfare  was  even  more 
in  Cleg's  way  than  a  plain,  hammer-and-tongs,  knock- 
down fight. 

As  she  came  with  the  poker  stiffiy  uplifted  against  the 
evening  sky.  Mistress  McWalter  looked  exceeding  martial. 
But,  as  Cleg  afterwards  expressed  it,  "  A  woman  shouldna 
try  to  fecht.  She's  far  ower  flappy  aboot  the  legs  wi' 
goons  and  petticoats."  Swift  as  a  duck  diving,  Cleg  fell 
flat  before  her,  and  Mistress  McWalter  suddenly  spread  all 
her  length  on  the  ground.  Cleg  instantly  was  on  his  feet 
again.  Had  the  enemy  been  a  man.  Cleg  would  have 
danced  on  him.  But  since  (and  it  was  a  pity)  it  was  a 
woman.  Cleg  only  looked  about  for  an  avenue  of  escape. 

Kit  Kennedy  pointed  with  his  finger  an  open  way 
round  the  milkhouse.  And  Cleg  knew  that  the  informa- 
tion was  a  friendly  enough  lead.  He  had  no  doubts  as  to 
the  good  faith  of  so  sturdy  a  fighter  as  Kit  Kennedy.  He 
was  obviously  not  the  stuff  that  traitors  are  made  of. 

But  a  sudden  thought  of  inconceivable  grandeur 
flushed  Cleg's  cheek.  Once  for  all,  he  would  show  them 
what  he  could  do.  He  would  evade  his  pursuers,  make 
his  late  adversary  burst  with  envy,  and  wring  the  heart  of 
Vara  Kavannah,  all  by  one  incomparable  act  of  daring. 
So  he  stood  still  till  Mistress  McWalter  arose  again  to  her 
feet  and  charged  upon  him  with  a  perfect  scream  of  an- 
ger. At  the  same  time  John  McWalter  closed  in  upon 
the  other  side  with  his  hay-fork  and  his  dogs.  Cleg  al- 
lowed them  to  approach  till  they  were  almost  within 
striking  distance  of  him.     Then,  without  giving  himself 


260  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

a  moment  for  reflection,  lie  wheeled  about  on  his  heels, 
balanced  a  moment  on  the  brink,  bent  his  arms  with  the 
fingers  touching  into  a  beautiful  bow,  and  sprang  far  out 
into  the  black  water. 

So  suddenly  was  this  done  that  the  good  man  of  Loch 
Spellanderie,  approaching  with  his  hay-fork  from  one 
direction,  ran  hastily  into  the  arms  of  his  spouse  charg- 
ing from  the  other.  And  from  her  he  received  a  most 
unwifely  ring  on  the  side  of  the  head  with  the  poker, 
which  loosened  every  tooth  John  McWalter  still  retained 
in  his  jawbones. 

"  Tak'  that,  ye  donnert  auld  deevil,  for  lettin'  him 
by  ! "  cried  the  harridan. 

"  Ye  let  him  by  yoursel',  guidwife,"  cried  her  husband, 
who  did  not  often  resent  anything  which  his  wife  might 
do,  but  who  felt  that  he  must  draw  the  line  at  having  to 
welcome  the  poker  on  the  side  of  his  head.  "  Dinna  come 
that  road  again,  my  woman.  I  declare  to  peace ;  had  it 
no  been  for  the  hay-time  comin'  on,  and  few  hands  to 
win  it,  I  wad  hae  stuck  the  fork  brave  and  firmly  intil  ye, 
ye  randy  besom  ! " 

To  what  lengths  the  quarrel  would  have  gone  if  it  had 
been  allowed  to  proceed,  will  never  be  known.  For  just 
at  that  moment  the  head  of  Cleg  emerged  far  out  upon 
the  dark  waters  of  Loch  Spellanderie. 

Cleg  Kelly  swam  nearly  as  easily  in  his  clothes  as  with- 
out them.  For  he  had  cast  his  coat  at  the  beginning  of 
the  fray,  and  as  to  his  trousers,  they  were  loose  and  es- 
pecially well  ventilated.  So  that  the  water  gushed  in  and 
out  of  the  holes  as  he  swam,  much  as  though  they  had 
been  the  gills  of  a  fish.  Indeed,  they  rather  helped  his 
progress  than  otherwise. 

Then  from  the  dusky  breadths  of  the  lake  arose  the 
voice,  mocking  and  bitter,  of  the  Thersites  of  the  Sooth 


CLEG  RELAPSES  INTO  PAGANISM.  261 

Back,  equally  well  equipped  for  compliment  and  deadly 
in  debate. 

"  Loup  in,"  he  cried,  "  try  a  dook.  It  is  fine  and 
caller  in  here  the  nicht.  But  leave  the  poker  ahint  ye. 
It  will  tak'  ye  a'  your  time  to  keep  your  ain  thick  heid 
abune  the  water.  Gome  on,  you  ! "  he  cried  pointedly  to 
Mistress  McWalter.  "That  face  o'  yours  hasna  seen 
water  for  a  month,  I'll  wager.  A  soom  will  do  you  a'  the 
guid  in  the  world !  And  you,  ye  guano-sack  on  stilts, 
come  and  try  a  spar  oot  here.  I'll  learn  ye  to  stick  hay- 
fows  into  decent  folk  !  " 

But  neither  John  McWalter  nor  yet  his  wife  had  a 
word  to  say  in  answer. 

Then  began  such  an  exhibition  as  Loch  Spellanderie  had 
never  seen.  Cleg  trod  water.  He  dived.  He  swam  on  his 
back,  on  his  side,  on  his  breast.  His  arms  described  dignified 
alternate  circles — half  in  air  and  half  in  water.  He  pre- 
tended to  be  drowning  and  let  himself,  after  a  terror- 
striking  outcry,  sink  slowly  down  into  deep  water,  from 
which  presently  he  arose  laughing. 

And  all  the  time  his  heart  was  hot  and  prideful  within 
him. 

"  I'll  learn  her,"  he  said  over  and  over  to  himself, "  I'll 
learn  her  to  tak'  up  wi'  a  country  Jock." 

And  then  he  would  execute  another  foolhardy  prank, 
dismally  rejoicing  the  while  in  Yara's  manifest  terror. 

"  Cleg,  come  oot !  Ye'll  be  drooned  ! "  Vara  cried, 
wringing  her  hands  in  agony.  Simple  and  innocent  her- 
self, she  could  not  understand  why  her  kind  good  Cleg 
should  act  so.  She  had  no  conception  of  the  evil  spirit 
of  pride  and  vainglory,  which  upon  occasion  rent  and 
tormented  that  small  pagan  bosom. 

"  I'll  show  her ! "  remained  the  refrain  of  all  Cleg's 
meditations  for  many  a  day. 


262  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

Finally,  when  this  had  gone  on  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  Cleg  trod  water  long  enough  to  kiss  his  hand,  and 
cry  "  Guidnicht ! "  to  Mistress  McWalter  and  her  hus- 
band, who  meanwhile  stood  dumb  and  astonished  on  the 
bank. 

Then  he  turned  and  swam  steadily  away  across  the 
loch.  He  did  not  know  in  the  least  how  he  would  get  his 
clothes  dried,  nor  yet  where  he  would  have  to  sleep.  But 
his  many  adventures  that  day,  and  in  especial  the  way  he 
had  "  taken  the  shine  oot  o'  that  loonie  wi'  the  curls," 
warmed  and  comforted  him  more  than  a  brand  new  suit 
of  dry  clothes.  So  long  as  he  could  see  them  he  looked 
over  his  shoulder  occasionally.  And  when  he  noted  the 
four  dark  figures  still  standing  on  the  bank.  Cleg  chuckled 
to  himself  and  his  proud  heart  rejoiced  within  him. 

"  I  telled  ye  I  wad  show  her,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  and 
I  hae  shown  her  1 " 


ADVENTUKE   XLV. 

THE   CABII^   01^  THE   SUMMIT. 

Like  most  Scottish  lakes.  Loch  Spellanderie  is  not 
wide,  and  Cleg  manfully  ploughed  his  way  across  without 
fear  of  the  result.  For  he  had  often  swam  much  further 
at  the  piers  of  Leith  and  Trinity,  as  well  as  much  longer 
in  the  many  lochs  which  are  girt  like  a  girdle  of  jewels 
round  about  his  native  city.  But  presently  his  clothes 
began  to  tire  him,  and  long  ere  the  dark  line  of  the  trees 
on  the  further  side  approached,  he  was  longing  to  be  on 
shore  again. 

Sometimes  also  he  seemed  to  hear  the  voices  of  men 
before  him,  though,  owing  the  deep  shadow  of  the  trees, 


THE  CABIN  ON  THE  SUMMIT.  263 

he  could  see  no  one.  Cleg's  arms  began  to  ache  terribly, 
and  his  feet  to  drag  lower  and  lower.  The  power  went 
out  of  his  strokes.  He  called  out  lustily  for  the  men  to 
wait  for  him.  He  could  hear  something  like  a  boat  mov- 
ing along  the  edge  of  the  reeds,  rustling  through  them 
with  a  sough  as  it  went. 

Suddenly  Cleg  saw  something  dark  swimming  slowly 
along  the  surface  of  the  water.  He  struck  towards  it 
fearlessly.  It  was  a  piece  of  wood  moved,  as  it  seemed, 
by  some  mysterious  power  from  the  shore.  Cleg  called 
out  again  for  the  men  whose  voices  he  had  heard  to  wait 
for  him.  But,  instead  of  waiting,  they  promptly  turned 
and  fled.  Cleg  could  hear  them  crashing  like  bullocks 
through  the  briars  and  hazels  of  the  underbrush. 

However,  he  was  not  far  from  the  land  now,  and  in  a 
minute  more  he  felt  his  feet  rest  upon  the  shelving  gravel 
of  the  lake  shore.  Cleg  brought  the  wedge-shaped  piece 
of  wood  with  him.  He  found  upon  holding  it  close  to  his 
eyes  in  the  dim  light,  that  a  double  row  of  hooks  was 
attached  to  it  beneath,  and  that  the  rewere  half  a  dozen 
good  trout  leaping  and  squirming  upon  different  sides 
of  it. 

Cleg  had  no  notion  of  the  nature  of  the  instrument  he 
had  captured.  Nor  indeed  had  he  the  least  idea  that  he 
had  disturbed  certain  very  honest  men  in  a  wholly  illegal 
operation. 

He  only  shook  himself  like  a  water-dog  and  proceeded 
to  run  through  the  wood  at  an  easy  trot,  for  the  purpose 
of  getting  some  heat  back  into  his  chilled  limbs. 

As  he  ran  his  thoughts  returned  often  to  Loch  Spel- 
landerie,  and  each  time  he  cracked  his  thumbs  with  glee. 

"  I  showed  her,  I'm  thinkin' !  "  he  said  aloud. 

Suddenly  Cleg  found  himself  out  of  the  wood.  He 
came  upon  a  slight  fence  of  wire  hung  upon  cloven  un- 


264  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

dressed  posts,  over  which  ran  the  shallow  trench  of  the 
railway  to  Port  Andrew. 

Cleg  knew  himself  on  sure  ground  again  so  soon  as 
he  came  to  something  so  familiar  as  the  four-foot  way. 
He  felt  as  if  he  had  a  friend  in  each  telegraph  post, 
and  that  the  shining  perspective  of  the  parallel  metals 
stretched  on  and  on  into  direct  connection  with  Princes 
Street  Station  and  the  North  Bridge  tram  lines  which  ran 
almost  to  the  Canongate  Head.  He  was,  as  it  were,  at 
home. 

The  boy  hesitated  a  little  which  way  to  turn.  But 
ultimately  he  decided  that  he  would  take  the  left  hand. 
So  Cleg  sped  along  the  permanent  way  towards  Port  An- 
drew at  the  rate  of  six  miles  an  hour. 

Had  he  known  it,  he  was  running  as  fast  as  he  could 
out  of  all  civilisation.  For  at  this  point  the  railway  passes 
into  a  purely  pastoral  region  of  sheep  and  muircocks, 
where  even  farms  and  cot-houses  are  scarcer  than  in  any 
other  part  of  the  lowlands  of  Scotland. 

Nevertheless  Cleg  kept  up  the  steady  swinging  trot, 
which  had  come  to  him  by  nature  in  direct  descent 
from  Tim  Kelly,  the  Irish  harvestman  and  burglar 
who  in  his  day  had  trotted  so  disastrously  into  Isbel 
Seattle's  life. 

But  Cleg  was  not  to  lie  homeless  and  houseless  that 
night,  as  Vara  and  the  children  had  often  done.  Cleg 
possessed  all  a  cat's  faculty  for  falling  on  his  feet. 

At  a  lonely  place  on  the  side  of  the  line  he  came  upon 
a  little  cluster  of  tanks  and  offices,  which  was  yet  not  a 
station.  There  was,  in  fact,  no  platform  at  all.  It  con- 
sisted mainly  of  the  little  tank  for  watering  the  engine, 
and,  set  deep  under  an  overhanging  snout  of  heathery 
moorland,  an  old  narrow- windowed  railway  carriage  raised 
upon  wooden  uprights. 


THE  CABIN  ON  THE  SUMMIT.  265 

Cleg  stood  petrified  with  astonishment  before  this 
strange  encampment.  For  there  were  lights  in  the  win- 
dows, and  the  sound  of  voices  came  cheerfully  from  within. 
Yet  here  was  the  lonely  moor,  with  the  birds  calling 
weirdly  all  about  him,  and  only  the  parallel  bars  of  the 
four-foot  way  starting  out  east  and  west  into  the  dark- 
ness, from  the  broad  stream  of  comfortable  light  which 
fell  across  them  from  the  windows  of  the  wheelless  rail- 
way carriage. 

Finally  Cleg  plucked  up  heart  to  knock.  He  had  a 
feeling  that  nothing  far  amiss  could  happen  to  him,  so 
near  a  railway  which  led  at  long  and  last  to  Princes 
Street,  where  even  at  that  moment  so  many  of  his  friends 
were  busily  engaged  selling  the  evening  papers.  Besides 
which  he  was  in  still  nearer  connection  with  his  friends 
Muckle  Alick,  the  porter,  and  Duncan  Urquhart,  the 
goods  enginedriver  at  Netherby  Junction. 

Cleg  tapped  gently,  but  there  was  at  first  no  cessation 
in  the  noise.  He  knocked  a  second  time  a  little  harder ; 
still  it  was  without  effect. 

A  voice  within  took  up  a  rollicking  tune,  and  the 
words  came  rantingly  through  the  wooden  partition. 
Cleg's  hand  slid  down  till  it  rested  upon  the  stirrup-shaped 
brass  handle  of  a  railway  carriage.  It  turned  readily  in 
his  fingers,  and  Cleg  peered  curiously  within. 

He  could  now  see  the  singer,  who  sat  on  a  wooden 
chair  with  his  stocking- soles  cocked  up  on  the  little  stove 
which  filled  all  one  end  of  the  hut.  There  came  from 
within  a  delightful  smell  of  broiling  bacon  ham,  which 
hungry  Cleg  sniffed  up  with  gusto. 

The   singer  was  a  rough-haired,  black-bearded  man 
with  a  wide  chest  and  mighty  shoulders,  even  though  he 
could  not  be  called  a  giant  when  compared  with  Muckle 
Alick  down  at  Netherby.     And  this  is  what  he  sang : 
18 


CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

Auld  Granny  Grey  Pow, 

Fetch  the  bairnies  in ; 
Bring  them  frae  the  Scaur  Heid, 

Whaur  they  mak'  sic  din. 
Chase  them  frae  the  washin'  pool, 

Thrang  at  skippiu'  stanes — 

Auld  Oranny  Grey  Poiv, 
Gather  hame  the  weans. 

The  singer's  voice  sang  this  verse  of  the  Poet  of  the 
Iron  Eoad  *  so  gaily  that  Cleg  felt  that  his  quarters  for 
the  night  were  assured.  He  was  about  to  step  within 
when  a  new  voice  spoke. 

"  'Deed  and  it  micht  serve  ye  better  a  deal,  Poet  Jock, 
gin  ye  wad  set  doon  your  feet  and  lift  your  Bible  to  tak' 
a  lesson  to  yoursel',  instead  o'  rantin'  there  at  a  gilravage 
o'  vain  sangs — aye,  even  wastin'  your  precious  time  in 
makkin'  them,  when  ye  micht  be  either  readin'  the  Com- 
pany's rules  or  thinkin'  aboot  the  concerns  o'  your  never- 
dying  sowl ! " 

"  You  baud  your  tongue,  Auld  Chairlie,"  cried  the 
singer,  pausing  a  moment,  but  not  turning  round ;  "gin 
ye  hadna  missed  thae  troots  the  nicht  and  lost  your  otter 
to  the  keepers  in  Loch  Spellanderie,  ye  wadna  hae  been 
sitting  there  busy  wi'  Second  Chronicles  !  " 

And  again  the  singer  took  up  his  ranting  melody  : 

Bring  in  Rab  to  get  him  washed, 

Weel  I  ken  the  loon, 
Canna  do  unless  he  be 

Dirt  frae  fit  to  croon. 
Tarn  and  WuU  are  juist  the  same 

For  a'  I  tak'  sic  pains — 

*  The  brave  "  Surfaceman,"  Mr.  Alexander  Anderson  of  Edin- 
burgh, for  a  volume  of  whose  collected  railway  verse  many  besides 
Cleg  are  waiting  with  eager  expectation. 


THE  CABIN  ON  THE  SUMMIT.  267 

Auld  Granny  Grey  Pow, 
Gather  hame  the  weans. 

So  the  singer  sang,  and  ever  as  he  came  to  the  refrain  he 
cuddled  an  imaginary  fiddle  under  his  chin  and  played  it 
brisk  and  tauntingly  like  a  spring : 

Auld  Granny  Grey  Pow, 
Gather  hame  the  weans. 

Then,  before  another  word  could  be  spoken,  Cleg 
stepped  inside. 

"  Guidnicht  to  ye  a' ! "  he  said  politely. 

The  man  who  had  been  called  Poet  Jock  took  down 
his  feet  from  the  top  of  the  stove  so  quickly  that  the  legs 
of  the  chair  slipped  from  under  him,  and  he  came  down 
upon  the  floor  of  the  carriage  with  a  resounding  thump. 
Auld  Chairlie,  a  white-haired  old  man  who  sat  under  a 
lamp  with  a  large  book  on  his  knee,  also  stood  up  so  sud- 
denly that  the  volume  slipped  to  the  floor. 

"  0  mercy !  Lord,  preserve  me,  what's  this  ?  "  he  cried, 
his  teeth  chattering  in  his  head  as  he  spoke. 

"Wha  may  you  be  and  what  do  ye  want?"  asked 
poet  Sandy,  without,  however,  getting  up  from  the 
floor. 

"  I'm  juist  Cleg  Kelly  f rae  the  Sooth  Back,"  said  the 
apparition. 

"And  whaur  got  ye  that  otter  and  troots  ? "  broke  in 
Auld  Chairlie,  who  could  not  take  his  eyes  off  them. 

"  I  got  them  in  the  loch.  Did  ye  think  they  grew  in 
the  field,  man  ?  "  retorted  Cleg,  whose  natural  man  was 
rising  within  him  at  the  enforced  catechism. 

"  Preserve  us  a' — I  thocht  ye  had  been  either  the  deil 
or  a  gamekeeper ! "  said  Auld  Chairlie,  with  intense  ear- 
nestness; "weel,  I'm  awesome  glad  ye  are  no  a  game 
watcher,  at  ony  rate.     We  micht  maybe  hae  managed  to 


268  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

gie  the  deil  a  bit  fley  by  haudin'  the  muckle  Bible  to  his 
e'e.  But  gamekeepers  are  a'  juist  regairdless  heathen 
loons  that  care  neither  for  Kirk  nor  minister — except 
maybe  an  orra  while  at  election  time." 

"Aye,  man,  an'  ye  are  Cleg  Kelly?  Where  did  ye 
'  Cleg '  f rae  ?  "  asked  the  poet,  who  contented  himself  jovi- 
ally with  his  position  in  the  corner  of  the  floor,  till  a  few 
cinders  fell  from  the  stove  and  made  him  leap  to  his  feet 
with  an  alacrity  which  was  quite  astounding  in  so  big  a 
man.  Then  the  reason  why  he  had  been  content  to  sit 
still  became  manifest.  For  his  head  struck  the  roof  of 
the  little  carriage  with  a  bang  which  made  him  cower. 
Whereupon  he  sat  down  again,  rubbing  it  ruefully,  mut- 
tering to  himself,  "  There  maun  be  the  maist  part  o'  an 
octavo  volume  o'  poems  stuck  to  that  roof  already,  and 
there  gangs  anither  epic ! " 

When  the  Poet  and  Auld  Chairlie  had  re-composed 
themselves  in  the  little  hut.  Cleg  proceeded  to  tell  them 
all  his  adventures,  and  especially  all  those  which  con- 
cerned Mistress  McWalter  of  Loch  Spellanderie,  and  the 
great  swim  across  the  water. 


ADVENTUKE  XLVI. 

A   CHILD   OF    THE    DEYIL. 

"  We'll  e'en  hae  yon  trouts  to  our  suppers  yet ! "  said 
Poet  Jock.  "  Chairlie,  man,  pit  on  the  pan.  It's  won- 
derf  u'  the  works  o'  a  gracious  Providence  ! " 

And  so  in  a  trice  the  two  noble  loch  trouts  were  fry- 
ing with  a  pat  of  butter  and  some  oatmeal  in  the  pan, 
and  sending  up  a  smell  which  mingled  deliciously  enough 


A  CHILD  OF  THE  DEVIL.  269 

with  that  of  the  fried  ham  which  already  smoked  upon  an 
aschet  by  the  fireside. 

The  good-hearted  surfacemen  at  the  Summit  Hut 
seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that  Cleg  was  to  remain 
with  them.  At  least  neither  of  them  asked  him  any  fur- 
ther questions.  This  might  be  because  in  the  course  of  his 
story  he  had  mentioned  familiarly  the  name  of  Duncan 
TJrquhart  the  goods  guard,  and  the  still  greater  one  of 
Muckle  Alick,  the  head  porter  at  Netherby.  And  these 
to  a  railway  man  on  the  Port  Koad  were  as  good  as  half- 
a-dozen  certificates  of  character. 

What  a  night  it  was  in  that  wild  place !  The  poet 
chanted  his  lays  between  alternate  mouthf  uls  of  ham  and 
fried  scones  of  heavenly  toothsomeness.  Auld  Chairlie 
said  quite  a  lengthy  prayer  by  way  of  asking  a  blessing. 
And  the  supplication  would  have  continued  a  longer  time 
still,  but  for  Poet  Jock's  base  trick  of  rattling  a  knife  and 
fork  on  a  plate,  which  caused  Auld  Chairlie  to  come  to  an 
abrupt  stoppage  lest  any  unsportsmanlike  march  should 
be  stolen  upon  him. 

Finally,  however,  all  started  fair. 

"  I  wadna'  wonder  gin  thae  troots  were  poached ! " 
said  the  poet,  winking  slily  at  Cleg ;  "  ye  wadna'  believe 
what  a  set  o'  ill-contrivin'  fallows  there  are  in  this  coun- 
tryside ! " 

"As  for  me,"  said  Auld  Chairlie,  "  I  can  see  naething 
wrang  in  catchin'  the  bit  things.  Ye  see  it's  no  only 
allowed,  it's  commanded.  Did  ye  never  read  how  the 
birds  in  the  air  and  the  fishes  in  the  flood  were  committed 
too  or  faith er  Aaidam  to  tell  the  names  o'  them  ?  N"oo, 
unless  he  gruppit  them,  how  could  he  possibly  tell  their 
names  ?    The  thing's  clean  ridiculous  ! " 

"Mony  a  decent  man  has  gotten  sixty  days  for  be- 
lievin'  that !  "  cried  the  poet  between  the  mouthfuls. 


270  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

In  the  middle  of  the  meal  the  poet  leaped  up  sudden- 
ly, checking  himself,  however,  in  the  middle  of  his  spring 
with  a  quick  remembrance  of  the  roof  above  him.  "  Pre- 
serve us,  laddie,  ye  are  a'  wat ! " 

"So  would  you,"  quoth  Cleg,  who  in  the  congenial 
atmosphere  of  the  cabin  had  recovered  all  his  natural 
briskness,  "  gin  ye  had  soomed  Loch  Spellanderie  as  weel 
as  me  !     Even  a  pairish  minister  wad  be  wat  then !  " 

"  Aye,"  said  Auld  Chairlie,  sententiously,  "  that's  juist 
like  your  poet.  He  hears  ye  tell  a'  aboot  soomin'  a  loch. 
But  he  never  thinks  that  ye  wad  hae  to  wat  your  claes 
when  ye  did  it." 

"  But  ye  didna'  speak  aboot  it  ony  mair  than  me,  Auld 
Chairlie  !  "  retorted  Poet  Jock. 

"  An'  what  for  should  I  do  that  ?  I  thocht  the  laddie 
maybe  prefer't  to  'bide  wat !  "  said  Auld  Chairlie,  with  em- 
phasis. 

"Ye  are  surely  growin'  doited,  Chairles,"  said  the 
poet ;  "  ye  took  the  Netherby  clearin'  hoose  clerk  for  the 
General  Manager  o'  the  line  the  day  afore  yesterday  !  " 

"  An'  so  micht  onybody,"  replied  Auld  Chairlie,  "  up- 
setting blastie  that  he  is !  Sic  a  wame  as  the  craitur 
cairries,  wag-waggin'  afore  him.  I  declare  I  thocht  he 
wad  be  either  General  Manager  o'  the  line  or  the  Provist 
o'  Glescae ! " 

"  Haud  your  tongue,  man  Chairlie,  and  see  if  ye  can 
own  up,  for  yince !  If  we  are  to  judge  folk  by  their 
wames,  gussy  pig  gruntin'  in  the  trough  wad  be  king  o' 
men.  But  stop  your  haverin'  and  see  if  ye  hae  ony  dry 
claes  that  ye  can  lend  this  boy.  He'll  get  his  death  o' 
cauld  if  he  lets  them  dry  on  him." 

But  Auld  Chairlie  had  nothing  whatever  in  the  way 
of  change,  except  a  checked  red-and-white  Sunday  hand- 
kerchief for  the  neck. 


A  CHILD  OF  THE  DEVIL.  £71 

"  And  I  hae  nocht  ava' !  "  exclaimed  the  poet.  "  Ye 
maun  juist  gang  to  your  bed,  my  man,  and  I'll  feed  ye 
over  the  edge  wi'  a  fork  ! " 

But  Cleg  saw  in  the  corner  the  old  flour  sack  in  which 
the  surfaceman  had  imported  his  last  winter's  flour.  The 
bag  had  long  been  empty. 

"  Is  this  ony  use  ? "  said  Cleg.  "  I  could  put  this 
on!" 

"  Use,"  cried  the  poet,  "  what  use  can  an  auld  flour 
sack  be  when  a  man's  claes  are  wat  ?  " 

"Aweel,"  said  Cleg,  "ye'll  see,  gin  ye  wait.  Eailway 
folk  dinna  ken  a'  thing,  though  they  think  they  do  !  " 

So  with  that  he  cut  a  couple  of  holes  at  the  corners, 
and  made  a  still  larger  hole  in  the  middle  of  the  sack  bot- 
tom. Then  he  disrobed  himself  with  the  utmost  gravity, 
drew  the  empty  sack  over  his  head,  and  put  his  arms 
through  the  holes  in  the  corners. 

"  It  only  needs  a  sma'  alteration  at  the  oxters  to  fit 
like  your  very  skin,"  he  said.  Then  he  took  up  Auld 
Chairlie's  table-knife  and  made  a  couple  of  slits  beneath 
the  arms,  "  and  there  ye  hae  a  comfortable  suit  o'  claes." 

The  poet  burst  into  a  great  laugh  and  smote  his  thigh. 
"  I  never  saw  the  match  o'  the  loon  ! "  he  cried,  joyously. 

"  They  are  nocht  gaudy,"  Cleg  went  on,  as  he  seated 
himself  at  the  corner  of  the  table,  having  first  spread  his 
wet  garments  carefully  before  the  stove,  "  but  it  is  a  fine 
an'  airy  suit  for  summer  wear.  The  surtowt  comes  below 
the  knee,  so  it's  in  the  fashion.  Lang-skirted  coats  are 
a'  the  go  on  Princes  Street  the  noo.  A'  the  lawyers  wear 
them." 

At  this  point  Cleg  rose  and  gave  an  imitation  of  the 
walk  and  conversation  of  a  gentleman  of  the  long  rolDC,  as 
seen  from  the  standpoint  of  the  Sooth  Back. 

Once  he  had  looked  into  Parliament  House  itself,  and 


272  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

managed  to  walk  twice  round  before  "  getting  chucked," 
as  he  remarked.     So  he  knew  all  about  it. 

He  took  an  oily  piece  of  cotton  waste  with  which  Poet 
Jock  cleaned  his  lamps.  He  secured  it  about  his  head,  so 
that  it  hung  down  his  back  for  a  wig.  He  put  a  penny 
in  his  eye,  instead  of  the  orthodox  legal  eyeglass.  Then 
he  set  his  hands  in  the  small  of  his  back,  and  began  to 
parade  up  and  down  the  centre  of  the  old  railway  carriage 
in  a  very  dignified  manner,  with  the  old  sack  waving  be- 
hind him  after  the  fashion  of  a  gown. 

He  pretended  to  look  down  with  a  lofty  contempt 
upon  Poet  Jock  and  Auld  Chairlie,  as  they  watched  him 
open-mouthed. 

"  Who  the  devil  are  those  fellows  ?  "  he  said ;  "  lot  of 
asses  about.  Everybody  is  an  ass.  Who's  sitting  to-day  ? 
Ha!  old  Bully-boy — bally  ass  he  is!  Who's  speaking? 
Young  Covercase — another  bleating  ass  !  Say,  old  chap- 
pie, come  and  let's  have  a  drink,  and  get  out  of  the  way 
of  the  asses." 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  Cleg  would  next  have  gone  on 
to  imitate  the  clergy  of  his  native  city.  But  he  was  ham- 
pered by  the  fact  that  his  opportunities  for  observation 
had  been  limited  to  the  street.  He  had  never  been  within 
a  church  door  in  his  life.  And  that  not  so  much  because 
he  would  have  stood  a  good  chance  of  being  turned  out 
as  a  mischief-maker,  but  from  natural  aversion  to  an 
hour's  confinement. 

Then  Cleg  wrapped  his  old  sack  about  him  very 
tightly,  and  assumed  a  fixed  smile  of  great  suavity.  He 
approached  the  poet,  who  was  stretching  his  long  limbs 
in  the  upper  bunk  which  occupied  one  side  of  the  hut. 

"  Ah,"  said  Cleg,  slowly  wagging  his  head  from  side 
to  side,  "  and  how  do  we  find  ourselves  to-day  ?  Better  ? 
Let  me  feel  your  pulse — Ah,  just  as  I  expected.     Tongue 


A  CHILD  OF  THE  DEVIL.  273 

— furry?  Have  you  taken  the  medicine?  What  you  need 
is  strengthening  food,  and  the  treatment  as  before.  See 
that  you  get  it — blue  mange,  grouse  pie,  and  the  best 
champagne!  And  continue  the  treatment!  Good- 
morning ! " 

Cleg  wrapped  his  sack  closer  about  him  as  he  finished, 
to  represent  the  slim  surtout  of  the  healing  faculty,  and, 
setting  an  old  tea  "  cannie  "  of  tin  upon  his  head  to  rep- 
resent a  tall  hat,  he  bowed  himself  out  with  his  best 
Canongate  imitation  of  a  suitable  and  effective  bedside 
manner. 

There  was  no  end  to  Cleg's  entertainment  when  he 
felt  that  he  had  an  appreciative  audience.  And  as  the 
comedy  consisted  not  so  much  in  what  he  said  as  in  the 
perfect  solemnity  of  his  countenance,  the  charm  of  his 
bare  arms  meandering  through  the  holes  in  the  corners  of 
the  sack,  and  the  bare  legs  stalking  compass-like  through 
its  open  mouth.  Poet  Jock  laughed  till  he  had  to  lie  down 
on  the  floor  in  the  corner.  Even  Auld  Chairlie  was  com- 
pelled perforce  to  smile,  though  he  often  declared  his 
belief  that  it  was  all  vanity,  and  that  Cleg  was  certainly  a 
child  of  the  devil. 

Chairlie  was  specially  confirmed  in  this  opinion  by 
Cleg's  next  characterisation. 

"Did  ye  ever  see  the  Track  Woman?"  said  Cleg, 
dropping  for  a  moment  into  his  own  manner.  "  I  canna' 
bide  her  ava.  There's  them  that  we  like  to  see  comin' 
into  our  hooses — folk  like  Miss  Celie,  that  is  veesitor  in 
oor  district,  or  Big  Smith,  the,Pleasance  Missionary,  even 
though  he  whiles  gies  us  a  lick  wi'  his  knobby  stick  for 
cloddin'  cats.  But  the  Track  Woman  I  canna  bide. 
This  is  her !  " 

And  he  gathered  up  his  sack  very  high  in  front  of 
him,  to  express  the  damage  which  it  would  receive  by 


274:  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

contact  with  the  dirt  of  Poet  Jock's  abode.  Then  he 
threw  back  his  head  and  stuck  out  his  chin,  to  convey  an 
impression  of  extreme  condescension. 

"  Good  day,  poor  people,"  he  said,  "  I  have  called  to 
leave  you  a  little  tract.  I  don't  know  how  you  can  live  in 
such  a  place.  Why  don't  you  move  away  ?  And  the  stair 
is  so  dirty  and  sticky !  It  is  really  not  fit  for  a  lady  to 
come  up.  What's  this?  What's  this" — (smelling) — 
"  chops !  Chops  are  far  too  expensive  and  wasteful  for 
people  in  your  position.     A  little  liver,  now,  or  beef -bone 

.     What  did  you  say  ?    '  Get  out  of  this ! '     Surely  I 

did  not  hear  you  right !  Do  you  know  that  I  came  here 
to  do  you  good,  and  to  leave  you  a  little  tract  ?  Now,  I 
pray  you,  do  not  let  your  angry  passions  rise.  I  will, 
however,  do  my  duty,  and  leave  a  little  tract.  Eead  it 
carefully ;  I  hope  it  will  do  you  good.  It  is  fitted  to  teach 
you  how  to  be  grateful  for  the  interest  that  is  taken  in 
you  by  your  betters !  " 

As  soon  as  Cleg  had  finished,  he  lifted  the  skirts  of  his 
old  sack  still  higher,  tilted  his  nose  yet  more  in  the  air, 
and  sailed  out,  sniffing  meanwhile  from  right  to  left  and 
back  again  with  extreme  disfavour. 

But  as  soon  as  he  had  reached  the  door  his  manner 
suffered  a  sea-change.  He  bounded  in  with  a  somersault, 
leaped  to  his  feet,  and  pretended  to  look  out  of  the  door 
after  the  departing  "  Track  Woman." 
'  "0  ye  besom!"  he  cried,  "comin'  here  nosing  and 
advising — as  stuffed  wi'  stinkin'  pride  as  a  butcher's  shop 
wi'  bluebottles  in  the  last  week  o'  July !  Dook  her  in  the 
dub !  Fling  dead  cats  at  her,  and  clod  her  wi'  cabbages 
and  glaur !  Pour  dish-washin's  on  her.  Ah,  the  pride- 
f u'  besom ! " 

And  with  this  dramatic  conclusion  Cleg  sank  appar- 
ently exhausted  into  a  chair  with  the  skirts  of  the  sack 


THE  SLEEP  OF  JAMES  CANNON,  SIGNALMAN.    275 

sticking  out  in  an  elegant  frill  in  front  of  him,  and  fanned 
himself  gracefully  with  an  iron  shovel  taken  from  the 
stove  top,  exactly  as  he  had  seen  the  young  lady  perform- 
ers at  the  penny  theatres  do  as  they  waited  in  the  wings 
for  their  "turn." 

Great  was  the  applause  from  Poet  Jock,  who  lay  in  a 
state  of  collapse  on  the  floor. 

"  Boys  0  ! "  he  exclaimed  feebly,  "  but  ye  are  a  lad ! " 
Auld  Chairlie  only  shook  his  head,  and  repeated,  "  I 
misdoot  that  ye  are  a  verra  child  o'  the  deevil ! " 


ADVENTUEE  XLVIL 

THE   SLEEP   OF  JAMES   CANNON,   SIGNALMAN. 

On  the  morrow  Cleg  was  up  betimes.  But  not  so 
early  as  Poet  Jock  and  Auld  Chairlie.  His  own  clothes 
were  pretty  dry,  but  Cleg  had  been  so  pleased  with  the 
freedom  and  airiness  of  his  "  sack  suit,"  as  he  called  it, 
that,  as  it  was  a  warm  morning  and  a  lonely  place,  he  de- 
cided to  wear  it  all  day. 

Cleg  went  out,  and,  starting  from  the  side  of  the  line, 
he  ran  light-foot  to  the  top  of  a  little  hill,  from  whence 
he  could  look  over  a  vast  moorish  wilderness — league  upon 
league  of  purple  heather,  through  which  the  railway  had 
been  cut  and  levelled  with  infinite  but  unremunera- 
tive  art. 

From  horizon  to  horizon  not  a  living  thing  could  Cleg 
see  except  the  moorbirds  and  the  sheep.  But  over  the 
woods  to  the  east  he  could  catch  one  glimpse  of  Loch 
Spellanderie,  basking  blue  in  the  sunlight.  He  could 
not,  however,  see   the   farmhouse.     But  he  rubbed  his 


276  CLEa  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

hands  with  satisfaction  as  he  thought  of  swimming  away 
from  them  all  into  the  darkness  the  night  before. 

"  I  showed  her  wha  was  the  man,  I'm  thinkin' ! "  he 
said.  And  there  upon  the  heather-blooms  Cleg  Kelly 
flapped  his  thin  arms  against  his  sack  and  crowed  like  a 
chanticleer.  Then  in  a  few  moments  there  came  back 
from  over  the  moor  and  loch  a  phantom  cock-crow  re- 
duced to  the  airiest  diminuendo.  It  was  the  tyrant  of 
the  Loch  Spellanderie  dung-hill  which  spoke  back  to  him. 

"  I'm  richt  glad  I'm  no  there,"  said  Cleg,  heartily. 

Nevertheless  he  went  down  the  hill  again  a  little  sadly, 
as  though  he  were  not  quite  sure,  when  he  came  to  think 
about  it,  whether  he  was  glad  or  not. 

But  on  the  whole  it  was  perhaps  as  well  that  he  was 
where  he  was,  at  least  in  his  present  costume. 

When  Cleg  got  back  to  the  hut,  he  looked  about  for 
something  to  do  till  his  friends  returned.  His  active 
frame  did  not  stand  idleness  well.  He  grew  distracted 
with  the  silence  and  the  wide  spaces  of  air  and  sunshine 
about  him.  He  longed  to  hear  the  thunderous  rattle  of 
the  coal-carts  coming  out  of  the  station  of  St.  Leonards. 
He  missed  the  long  wolf's  howl  of  the  seasoned  South 
Side  coalman.  In  the  morning,  indeed,  the  whaups  had 
done  something  to  cheer  him,  wailing  and  crying  to  the 
peewits.  But  as  the  forenoon  advanced  even  they  went 
off  to  the  shore-side  pools,  or  dropped  into  the  tufts  of 
heather  and  were  mute. 

Cleg  grew  more  and  more  tired  of  the  silence.  It 
deafened  him,  so  that  several  time  she  had  to  go  outside 
and  yell  at  the  top  of  his  voice  simply,  as  it  were,  to  relieve 
nature. 

It  happened  that  on  the  second  occasion,  as  soon  as  he 
had  finished  yelling — that  is,  exhausted  an  entire  vocab- 
ulary of  hideous  sounds — a  train  to  Port  Andrew  broke 


THE  SLEEP  OF  JAMES  CANNON,  SIGNALMAN.    277 

the  monotony.  It  did  not  actually  stop,  because  it  was  a 
passenger  train  and  had  already  "  watered  up  "  at  Neth- 
erby.  But  Cleg  was  as  pleased  as  if  it  had  brought  him 
a  box  of  apples.  He  climbed  up  and  sat  cross-legged  on 
the  top  of  the  hut  in  his  sack,  for  all  the  world  like  an  In- 
dian idol;  and  the  engine-driver  was  so  astonished  that 
he  forgot  to  put  the  brake  on  till  he  was  thundering 
headlong  half  way  down  the  incline  on  the  western  side  of 
the  Summit  cabin. 

But  the  stoker,  a  young  man  incapable  of  astonish- 
ment (as  many  of  the  very  young  are),  picked  up  a  lump 
of  coal  from  the  tender  and  threw  it  at  Cleg  with  excel- 
lent aim.  However,  as  the  train  was  going  slowly  uphill 
at  the  time,  Cleg  caught  it  and  set  the  piece  of  coal  be- 
tween his  teeth.  His  aspect  on  this  occasion  was  such  as 
would  fully  have  warranted  Auld  Chairlie  in  setting  him 
down  not  as  a  child  of  the  devil,  but  as  the  father  of  all 
the  children  of  the  devil. 

The  train  passed,  and  Cleg  was  again  in  want  of  some- 
thing to  do.  He  could  not  sit  there  in  the  sun,  and  be 
slowly  roasted  with  a  piece  of  coal  between  his  teeth, 
all  for  the  benefit  of  the  whaups.  He  thought  with  re- 
gret how  he  should  like  to  sit,  just  as  he  was,  on  some 
towering  pinnacle  of  the  Scott  monument  where  the  po- 
lice could  not  get  him,  and  make  faces  at  all  the  envi- 
ous keelies  in  Edinburgh.  To  do  this  through  all  eternity 
would  have  afforded  him  much  more  pleasure  than  any 
realisation  of  more  contentional  presentations  of  the  joys 
of  heaven. 

He  descended  and  looked  about  him. 

At  the  end  of  the  little  cabin  he  found  a  pitcher  of 
tar,  but  no  brush.  He  searched  further,  however,  till 
he  found  it  thrown  carelessly  away  among  the  heather. 
Whereupon  Cleg  forthwith  appointed  himself  house-paint- 


278  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

er-in-ordinarj  to  the  Port  Andrew  Eailway  Company,  and 
attacked  the  Summit  cabin.  He  laid  the  tar  on  thick 
and  good,  so  that  when  the  sun  beat  upon  his  handiwork 
it  had  the  effect  of  raising  a  smell  which  made  Cleg's 
heart  beat  with  the  joy  of  reminiscence.  It  reminded 
him  of  a  thousand  things — of  the  brickyard  on  blistering  , 
afternoons,  and  also  (when  the  perfume  came  most  undi- 
luted to  his  nose)  of  that  district  of  Fountainbridge  which 
has  the  privilege  of  standing  upon  the  banks  of  the  Forth 
and  Clyde  canal,  and  of  containing  several  highly  respect- 
able and  well-connected  glue  factories.  Cleg  had  once 
gone  there  to  "  lag  for  a  boy  "  who  had  offended  his  dig- 
nity by  "  trapping  "  him  at  school  in  the  spelling  of  the 
word  "  coffin." 

Cleg  had  spelled  it,  simply  and  severely,  "  kofn." 

The  boy  from  Fountainbridge,  however,  had  spelled  it 
correctly.  Not  only  so,  but  he  had  been  elated  about  the 
matter — very  foolishly  and  rashly  so,  indeed. 

"  For,"  said  Cleg,  "  it's  easy  for  him.  His  faither  is  a 
joiner,  and  makes  coffins  to  his  trade.  Besides,  he  had  a 
half-brither  that  died  last  week.  He  micht  easy  be  able 
to  spell 'coffin'!" 

To  prevent  the  pride  which  so  surely  comes  before  a 
fall,  Cleg  waited  for  the  "  coffin  "  boy  and  administered 
the  fall  in  person — indeed,  several  of  them,  and  mostly  in 
puddles. 

He  was  therefore  agreeably  reminded  of  his  visit  to 
Fountainbridge  whenever  he  stirred  up  the  pitch  from 
the  bottom  and  the  smell  rose  to  his  nostrils  particularly 
solid  and  emulous.  He  shut  his  eyes  and  coughed.  He 
dreamed  that  he  was  back  and  happily  employed  in  "  down- 
ing "  the  orthographist  of  Fountainbridge  upon  the  flow- 
ery banks  of  the  Union  Canal. 

It  was  after  ten  o'clock  in  the  evenino^  before  Poet 


THE  SLEEP  OF  JAMES  CANNON,  SIGNALMAN.    279 

Jock  came  in  sight.  He  had  been  on  a  heavy  job  with  a 
break-down  gang  on  the  Muckle  Fleet  incline.  All  day 
long  he  had  been  rhyming  verses  to  the  rasp  of  pick  and 
the  scrape  of  shovel.  Sometimes  so  busy  was  he  that  he 
had  barely  time  to  take  his  mate's  warning  and  leap  to 
the  side  before  the  engine  came  leaping  round  the  curve 
scarcely  thirty  lengths  of  rail  away.  But  Poet  Jock  was 
entirely  happy.  Probably  he  might  have  travelled  far 
and  never  known  greater  exhilaration  than  now,  when  he 
heard  the  engine  surge  along  the  irons,  while  he  tingled 
with  the  thought  that  it  was  his  strong  arms  which  kept 
the  track  by  which  man  was  joined  to  man  and  city  linked 
to  city. 

A  fine,  free,  broad-browed,  open-eyed  man  was  Poet 
Jock.  And  his  hand  was  as  heavy  as  his  heart  was  tender. 
As,  indeed,  many  a  rascal  had  found  to  his  cost.  Those 
who  know  railwaymen  best,  are  surest  that  there  does  not 
exist  in  the  world  so  fine  a  set  of  workers  as  the  men 
whose  care  is  the  rails  and  the  road,  the  engines  and  the 
guard  vans,  the  platforms,  goods  sheds,  and  ofiices  of  our 
common  railways. 

A  railway  never  sleeps.  A  thousand  watchful  eyes  are 
at  this  moment  glancing  through  the  bull's-eyes  of  the 
driver's  cab.  A  thousand  strong  hands  are  on  the  driving 
lever.  Aloft,  in  wind-beaten,  rain-battered  signal  boxes, 
stand  the  solitary  men  who,  with  every  faculty  on  the 
alert,  keep  ten  thousand  from  instant  destruction.  How 
tense  their  muscles,  how  clear  their  brains  must  be  as 
they  pull  the  signal  and  open  the  points !  That  brown 
hand  gripping  lever  number  seventeen,  instead  of  number 
eighteen  within  six  inches  of  it,  is  all  that  preserves  three 
hundred  people  from  instant  and  terrible  death.  That 
pound  or  two  of  pressure  on  the  signal  chain  which  sent 
abroad  the  red  flash  of  danger,  stopped  the  express  in 


280  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

which  sat  our  wives  and  children,  and  kept  it  from  dash- 
ing at  full  speed  into  that  over-shunted  truck  which  a 
minute  ago  toppled  over  and  lay  squarely  across  the  racer's 
path. 

And  the  surfacemen,  of  whom  are  Auld  Chairlie  and 
Poet  Jock  ?  Have  you  thought  of  how,  night  and  day, 
they  patrol  every  rod  of  iron  path — how  with  clink  of 
hammer  and  swing  of  arm  they  test  every  length  of  rail — 
how  they  dash  the  rain  out  of  their  eyes  that  they  may 
discern  whether  the  sidelong  pressure  of  the  swift  express, 
or  the  lumbering  thunder  of  the  overladen  goods,  have 
not  bent  outwards  the  steel  rail,  forced  it  from  its  "  chair," 
or  caused  the  end  of  the  length  to  spring  upward  like  a 
fixed  bayonet  after  the  weight  has  passed  over  it  ? 

A  few  men  standing  by  the  line  side  as  the  train  speeds 
by.  What  of  them  ?  Heroes  ?  They  look  by  no  means 
like  it.  Lazy  fellows,  rather,  leaning  on  their  picks  and 
shovels  when  they  should  be  working.  Or  a  solitary  man 
far  up  among  the  hills,  idly  clinking  the  metals  with  his 
hammer  as  he  saunters  along  through  the  stillness. 

These  are  the  surfacemen — and  that  is  all  most  know 
of  them.  But  wait.  When  the  night  is  blackest,  the 
storm  grimmest,  there  is  a  bridge  out  yonder  which  has 
been  weakened — a  culvert  strained  where  a  stream  from 
the  hillside  has  undermined  the  track.  The  trains  are' 
passing  every  quarter  of  an  hour  in  each  direction.  Never- 
theless, a  length  of  rail  must  be  lifted  and  laid  during  that 
time.  A  watch  must  be  kept.  The  destructiveness  of 
nature  must  be  fought  in  the  face  of  wetness  and  weari- 
ness. And,  in  spite  of  all,  the  train  may  come  too  quick 
round  the  curve.  Then  there  follows  the  usual  paragraph 
in  the  corner  of  the  local  paper  if  the  accident  has  hap- 
pened in  the  country,  a  bare  announcement  of  the  coro- 
ner's inquest  if  it  be  in  the  town. 


THE  SLEEP  OF  JAMES  CANNON,  SIGNALMAN.    281 

A  porter  is  crushed  between  the  platform  and  the 
moving  carriages ;  a  goods  guard  killed  at  the  night  shunt 
in  the  yard.  Careless  fellow !  Serves  him  right  for  his 
recklessness.  Did  he  not  know  the  risk  when  he  engaged  ? 
Of  course  he  did — none  better.  But  then  he  got  twenty- 
two  shillings  a  week  to  feed  wife  and  bairns  with  for 
taking  that  risk.  And  if  he  did  not  take  it,  are  there  not 
plenty  who  would  be  glad  of  the  chance  of  his  empty 
berth? 

And  what  then  ?  Why,  just  this :  there  is  one  added 
to  the  thousands  killed  upon  the  railways  of  our  lands — 
one  stroke,  a  little  figure  1  made  at  the  foot  of  the  unfin- 
ished column,  a  grave,  a  family  in  black,  a  widow  with  six 
children  moved  out  of  the  company's  house  on  which 
grow  the  roses  which  he  planted  about  the  door  that  first 
year,  when  all  the  world  was  young  and  a  pound  a  week 
spelled  Paradise.  The  six  children  have  gone  into  a  single 
room  and  she  takes  in  washing,  and  is  hoping  by  and  by  to 
get  the  cleaning  of  a  board  school,  if  she  be  very  fortunate. 

To  blame  ?  Who  said  that  any  one  was  to  blame  ?  Of 
course  not.  Are  we  not  all  shareholders  in  the  railways, 
and  do  we  not  grumble  vastly  when  our  half-yearly  divi- 
dend is  low?  So  lengthen  the  hours  of  these  over-paid, 
lazy  fellows  in  corduroys — lengthen  that  column  over 
which  the  Board  of  Trade's  clerk  lingers  a  moment  ere  he 
adds  a  unit.  0  well,  what  matter?  'Tis  only  statistics 
filed  for  reference  in  a  Government  office. 

But  while  Cleg  waited  for  Poet  Jock  something  else 
was  happening  at  N^etherby. 

It  was  a  bitter  night  there,  with  a  westerly  wind  sweep- 
ing up  torrents  of  slanting  rain  through  the  pitchy  dark. 
!N"etherby  Junction  was  asleep,  but  it  was  the  sleep  which 
draws  near  the  resurrection.  The  station-master  was  en- 
joying his  short  after-supper  nap  in  the  armchair  by  the 
19 


282  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITr. 

fire.  For  the  down  boat-train  from  Port  Andrew  and  the 
Duncan  L^rquhart's  goods  train  would  pass  each  other  at 
Netherby  Junction  at  10.5  p.  m. 

The  signal  box  up  yonder  in  the  breast  of  the  storm 
was  almost  carried  away.  So  tall  it  rose  that  the  whole 
fabric  bent  and  shivered  in  each  fierce  gust  which  came 
hurtling  in  from  the  Atlantic.  James  Cannon,  the  sig- 
nalman of  Netherby  West,  was  not  asleep.  His  mate  was 
ill,  but  not  ill  enough  to  be  quite  off  duty.  James  Cannon 
had  applied  for  a  substitute,  but  headquarters  were  over- 
taxed for  spare  men  and  had  not  responded.  ISTetherby 
was  considered  a  light  station  to  work,  and  the  duty  would 
no  doubt  be  done  somehow. 

James  Cannon  had  been  on  duty  since  six  in  the  morn- 
ing— sixteen  hours  already  at  the  levers.  Then  he  had 
also  been  up  nearly  all  the  night  before  with  a  weakly  and 
fretful  child.  But  the  company's  regulations  could  not 
be  expected  to  provide  for  that. 

James  Cannon,  however,  was  not  asleep.  He  had  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  distant  signal  on  the  high  bank,  as  he 
caught  the  gleam  of  it  wavering  through  the  storm.  That 
was  the  way  the  boat  express  would  have  to  come  in  a  few 
minutes  more.  The  electric  needle  quivered  and  clicked 
behind  him.  The  signalman  thought  of  the  light  upon 
the  Little  Ross,  which  he  used  to  see  from  the  green 
Borgue  shore  when  he  was  a  boy.  He  had  always  looked 
out  at  it  every  night  before  he  went  to  sleep.  The  distant 
signal  on  the  high  bank  seemed  now  to  flash  and  turn 
like  a  lighthouse.  Was  that  the  Little  Eoss  he  was  look- 
ing at  ?  Surely  he  could  hear  the  chafing  of  the  Sol  way 
tides.  Was  that  not  his  mother  bidding  him  lie  down 
and  sleep?  James  Cannon  saw  the  distant  signal  no 
more.  The  lights  of  other  days  beckoned  him,  and  he 
attended  to  their  signal. 


THE  SLEEP  OF  JAMES  CANNON,  SIGNALMAN.    283 

Below  in  the  left  luggage  office  stood  Muekle  Alick. 
He  was  taking  his  mate's  place  at  that  night's  express. 
He  had  asked  away  in  order  to  visit  his  sweetheart,  Alick 
knew.  Though  certainly  his  mate  had  not  mentioned  it 
in  his  application  to  the  station-master.  Many  a  time 
had  he  done  the  same  for  the  sake  of  Mirren  Terregles. 

Muekle  Alick  was  arranging  the  parcels — which  were 
to  go,  and  which  to  be  delivered  on  the  morrow.  He  laid 
them  neatly  on  long  high  benches  at  opposite  sides  of  the 
room,  with  the  larger  ones  below  on  the  floor.  There  was 
no  work  of  Muekle  Alick's  doing  which  was  not  perfectly 
done,  and  as  featly  and  daintily  as  a  girl  twitches  her 
crochet  needles  among  the  cotton. 

So  engrossed  was  Alick  in  this  work  that  it  was  five 
minutes  past  ten  before  he  looked  up  at  the  clock — a 
cheap  one  which  he  had  bought  from  a  Jew  pedlar,  and 
fixed  upon  the  wall  himself — "  to  see  the  time  to  go  home 
by,"  his  mates  said.  The  clock  told  him  it  was  time  to 
go  home  already. 

He  started  up  and  rushed  out.  The  London  express 
was  due  from  the  Irish  Boat !  It  passed  JSTetherby  with- 
out stopping,  running  on  to  the  other  line  for  thirty  miles, 
which  from  the  Junction  was  a  single  one.  Duncan 
Urquhart's  heavily-laden  goods  ought  already  to  have 
passed.  It  was  James  Cannon's  duty  to  keep  back  the 
express  till  he  could  turn  the  goods  on  to  a  siding,  so  that 
the  rails  might  be  kept  clear  for  the  passage  of  the  express 
five  minutes  later. 

Muekle  Alick  started  up  in  instant  affright.  He  had 
not  heard  Duncan  Urquhart's  heavy  train  go  rumbling  by. 


284  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 


ADVENTURE  XLVIIL 

MUCKLE   ALICE   SEES  THE   DISTANT   SIGN'AL   STAND 
AT  CLEAR. 

Alick  rushed  out  without  waiting  to  put  on  his  cap. 
He  glanced  up  at  the  signal  box.  It  seemed  dim  and 
dusky.  "  James  Cannon  has  let  his  lamp  go  low  !  "  mut- 
tered Alick  to  himself. 

At  that  moment  he  heard  first  one  warning  whistle, 
and  then  two.  He  was  not  quite  sure  about  the  last,  for 
the  wind  was  shrieking  its  loudest,  and  it  was  not  easy  to 
be  certain  about  anything. 

He  looked  up  and  down  the  line,  shading  his  eyes  from 
the  rain  with  his  hand. 

Great  God  of  heaven !  The  goods  train  was  not  yet 
off  the  single  line.  Both  signals  were  standing  at  clear, 
and  the  points  were  not  shifted.  The  Boat  express  was 
thundering  down  the  hill  from  Port  Andrew  at  the  rate 
of  sixty  miles  an  hour,  and  would  be  through  the  Junc- 
tion in  a  minute.  And  there  upon  the  single  metals 
right  ahead  would  be  Duncan  Urquhart  with  his  heavy 
goods  train. 

Muckle  Alick  snatched  up  a  huge  bar  of  metal,  which 
was  used  in  forcing  round  the  cranks  when  they  reversed 
the  engines  on  the  turn-table  by  the  engine  house,  the 
same  which  little  Hugh  had  almost  spent  his  life  in  trying 
to  observe  more  nearly. 

With  this  ponderous  tool  in  his  hand  Muckle  Alick 
rushed  along  to  the  facing  points,  whence  Duncan  Ur- 
quhart's  goods  train  might  possibly  be  guided  upon  the 
proper  metals  ere  the  express  rushed  past.  As  he  ran  he 
saw  Duncan's  headlights  coming,  and  the  thunder  of  the 


MUCKLE  ALICK  SEES  THE  DISTANT  SIGNAL.    285 

express  was  also  in  his  ears.  He  shouted  with  all  his 
power,  but  the  wind  whirled  away  Muckle  Alick's  cries 
as  though  they  had  been  baby  Gavin's. 

On  came  the  goods  train,  laden  with  heavy  merchan- 
dise and  coals,  beating  up  slowly  against  the  westerly 
wind.  At  that  moment  the  rending  screech  of  the  ex- 
press pierced  to  his  heart.  Another  moment  and  it  must 
dash  into  the  train  driven  by  Duncan  Urquhart. 

Muckle  Alick  found  the  points  open.  Throwing  his 
great  crowbar  forward  he  inserted  it  beneath  the  length 
of  rail,  and  with  the  strength  of  Samson,  he  moved  the 
whole  section  over  to  the  other  side.  He  could  not  lock 
the  points,  of  course,  as  the  signal-man  could  have  done. 
But  Alick  held  them  tight  with  his  lever,  while  the  heavy 
goods  train  bumped  along,  passing  over  the  improperly 
joined  points  with  a  terrible  jolting  which  almost  dis- 
located his  arms.  But  still  Muckle  Alick  held  on.  For 
he  knew  that  the  lives  of  a  hundred  men  and  women  de- 
pended upon  the  sureness  of  his  hand. 

The  goods  train  was  a  long  one  and  it  jolted  slowly 
past.  It  was  not  till  he  saw  the  hind  light  of  the  guard's 
van  passing  him  with  a  swing,  that  Muckle  Alick's  heart 
gave  a  joyful  leap.  But  just  as  the  last  van  went  past, 
with  a  roar  and  a  rush  of  fire-lighted  smoke  the  express 
leaped  by.  A  moment  before  the  released  points  had 
flown  back  to  their  place.  The  way  was  clear.  But 
something,  it  is  thought  the  iron  framework  of  the  catcher 
on  the  postal  car,  caught  Muckle  Alick  and  jerked  him 
thirty  yards  from  where  he  had  been  standing.  Without 
so  much  as  a  quiver,  the  express  flew  out  again  into  the 
dark,  her  whistle  screaming  a  death-knell  and  the  back 
tempest  hurtling  behind  her. 

No  one  had  seen  Muckle  Alick.  None  knew  of  his 
deed  of  heroism,  save  only  Duncan  Urquhart,  who,  un- 


286  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB   OP  THE  CITY. 

conscious  of  danger,  had  cried  cheerfully  as  he  passed, 
"  What  are  ye  hanging  on  to  a  post  there  for,  Alick  ?  " 

It  was  fully  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  that  Urquhart 
went  to  look  for  Muckle  Alick.  He  thought  he  would 
walk  the  first  part  of  his  way  home  with  him.  It  was  al- 
ways wholesome  and  always  cheery  to  walk  with  Muckle 
Alick,  even  when  he  was  going  home  from  a  long  spell 
of  overtime. 

At  that  moment  the  station  master  woke  up  with  a 
start.    It  was  tioenty  minutes  past  ten.    The  Express 1 

He  rushed  out.  The  signal  box  was  quite  dark.  Dun- 
can Urquhart  was  coming  up  the  platform  alone  with  his 
coat  over  his  arm.     He  called  out  to  the  station  master : 

"  Is  your  signal-man  deid,  or  only  sleepin'  ?  " 

A  few  moments  after  James  Cannon  awoke  from  a 
pleasant  dream  of  the  Ross  Lighthouse. 

"  Get  up,  man ! "  cried  the  station  master,  standing 
over  him  with  a  lantern,  "  God  kens  how  many  lives  ye 
hae  lost  through  your  ill  deeds ! " 

Dazed  and  bewildered,  James  Cannon  arose  to  the 
damning  fact  that  the  boat  train  was  past,  and  he  knew 
well  that  he  had  never  altered  the  signals  or  set  the 
points. 

Five  minutes  later  Duncan  Urquhart  found  Muckle 
Alick.  He  was  lying  half  on  and  half  over  the  embank- 
ment of  the  cattle  shipping  bank,  where  the  express  had 
tossed  him  like  a  feather. 

"Oh,  what's  wrang,  what's  wrang,  Alick?"  cried 
Duncan  Urquhart  in  terror. 

"  It's  a'  richt,  Duncan,"  said  Muckle  Alick,  slowly  but 
very  distinctly.  "  I  gripped  the  points  and  held  them  till 
ye  won  by ! " 

"Can  ye  bide  a  minute,  Alick?"  said  Duncan  ten- 
derly. 


MUCKLE  ALICK  SEES  THE  DISTANT  SIGNAL.  28? 

"  Ow,  aye,"  said  the  wounded  man,  "  dinna  fash  your- 
sel'.     There's  nae  hurry — Mirren  wasna'  expectin'  me ! " 

Faster  far  than  his  own  train  had  passed  the  points, 
Duncan  Urquhart  sped  back  to  the  station. 

"Alick's  lying  killed  doon  on  the  cattle  bank!"  he 
cried.     "  Help  us  wi'  that  board  !  " 

And,  rushing  into  the  empty  waiting-room,  he  laid 
hold  of  a  newly-erected  partition  which  had  recently  been 
set  up  to  keep  the  draughts  from  the  passengers. 

It  resisted  his  strength,  but  with  the  station  master  to 
help  him,  and  a  "  One,  Two,  Three,"  it  yielded,  and  the 
men  tore  down  the  platform  with  it. 

With  the  help  of  poor,  dazed  James  Cannon  and  an- 
other, they  laid  the  giant  tenderly  upon  it.  But  they  had 
to  wait  for  other  two,  hastily  summoned  from  the  nearest 
railway  houses,  before  they  dared  try  to  lift  Muckle  Alick. 

"Does  it  hurt,  Alick?"  asked  Duncan  of  Inverness, 
gently,  like  a  Highland  man. 

"  It's  no  that  sair,"  said  Alick,  as  quietly,  "  but  juist 
try  no  to  be  ower  lang  wi'  me !  " 

They  carried  him  to  the  left-luggage  office,  into  which, 
a  few  weeks  before,  he  had  taken  the  children  whom,  at 
the  peril  of  his  life,  he  had  saved  from  death.  They  were 
going  to  lay  down  the  partition  with  its  load  upon  the 
table  on  which  he  had  been  arranging  the  parcels  half  an 
hour  before. 

"  Pit  me  on  the  bench,"  said  Alick,  calmly,  "  dinna 
meddle  the  parcels.  They  are  a'  ready  to  gang  oot  wi' 
the  first  delivery  the  morn." 

So,  even  as  he  bade  them,  on  the  bench  they  laid  Alick 
down.  What  like  he  was  I  know,  but  I  am  not  going  to 
tell.     His  wife,  Mirren,  might  chance  to.  read  it. 

There  were  tears  running  down  Duncan  Urquhart's 
face.     The  station  master  had  already  run  for  a  doctor. 


288  ^'^^EG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  Dinna  greet,  Duncan,"  said  Alick.  "  The  boat  train 
won  by  a'  richt,  and  I  manned  to  baud  the  points  for  ye." 

But  Duncan  Urquhart  could  answer  him  no  word.  In 
the  corner  sat  James  Cannon  with  his  head  on  his  hands, 
rocking  himself  to  and  fro  in  speechless  agony  of  soul. 

"  Oh,  I  wuss  it  had  been  me,"  he  wailed.  "  I  w^uss  it 
had  been  me ! " 

"  Hoot  na,  James,"  said  Alick.  "  It's  better  as  it  is — 
ye  hae  a  young  family." 

Then,  as  if  he  had  been  thinking  it  over, 

"  Duncan,"  he  said,  "  Duncan,  promise  me  this — ye'll 
no  let  Mirren  see  me.  Mind  ye,  Mirren  is  no  to  see  me. 
I  dinna  want  her  to  think  o'  me  like  this. 

"  She  was  aye  sae  taen  up  aboot  me,  ye  see,"  he  added 
apologetically,  after  a  little  pause. 

The  doctor  came.  He  bent  over  Alick.  He  moved 
him  tenderly,  this  way  and  that.  Then  he  ordered  all  out 
of  the  left-luggage  office,  except  Duncan  Urquhart  and 
the  station  master's  wife,  a  quiet  motherly  woman. 

Then,  while  the  doctor  did  his  duty,  Alick  sank  into 
a  kind  of  stupor.  Presently  he  woke  from  it  with  a  little 
start. 

"  Doctor,  is  this  you?  "  he  said ;  "  this  is  terrible  kind 
o'  ye.  But  it's  a  cauld  nicht  for  you  to  be  oot  o'  your  bed 
so  late — and  you  wi'  a  hoast ! " 

"  Wheesht,  Alick  ! "  said  the  doctor.  And  said  no 
more  for  a  little.  For,  like  every  one  else,  he  loved  the 
soft-hearted  giant. 

Then  Alick  beckoned  the  station  master  to  him  from 
the  door  of  the  left-luggage  office,  where  he  stood  nervous- 
ly clasping  and  unclasping  his  hands.  The  station  master 
came  and  bent  his  head. 

"  The  boat  train,"  whispered  Muckle  Alick,  "  ye'll  hae 
to  enter  her  in  the  shedule  five  meenites  late.     But  ye 


MUCKLE  ALTCK  SEES  THE  DISTANT  SIGNAL.  28^ 

can  say  that  she  passed  Netherby  wi'  the  signals  standing 
at  clear." 

He  was  silent  a  moment.     Then  he  looked  up  again. 

"Mind  ye,  there's  to  be  nocht  said  aboot  it  in  the 
papers.  You'll  see  to  that,  will  ye  no?  It's  my  wish. 
An'  if  the  company  likes  to  do  aught,  it'll  aye  be  a  help 
to  Mirren." 

There  was  a  sound  of  sobbing  at  the  door,  and  the 
station  master  shoved  the  youngest  porter  out  on  the  plat- 
form with  his  foot. 

"  Has — ony — body  gaen  to  tell  Mirren  ?  "  asked  Alick 
in  a  little. 

The  doctor  nodded.  He  had,  in  fact,  sent  his  own 
coachman  to  Sandyknowes  with  a  gig. 

"  Puir  Mirren,"  said  Alick  again,  "  I'm  some  doot- 
some  that  she'll  tak'  this  hard.  She  was  na  looking  for 
it,  like." 

He  looked  about  apologetically  again. 

"  She  was  that  sair  set  on  me,  ye  see — maybe  wi'  us 
haein'  nae  bairns,  ye  ken." 

He  was  silent  a  little  while,  and  then  he  said,  more 
brightly,  "  There's  three  comed  noo,  though.  Maybe 
they'll  be  a  blessin'  to  her.  The  Lord  sent  them  to  her, 
I'm  thinkin'.     He  wad  ken  o'  this  aforehand,  nae  doot !  " 

Suddenly  he  held  up  his  hand,  and  there  was  a  light 
shining  like  a  lamp  in  his  eyes. 

"  Hearken  !  that's  the  whistle ! "  he  cried.  "  Are  the 
signals  clear  ?  " 

There  was  no  train  in  the  station  nor  near  it. 

Muckle  Alick  v/ent  on.  He  lifted  his  head  and  looked 
through  the  open  door  as  one  looks  ahead  under  his  hand 
when  the  sun  is  strong. 

"  I  can  see  the  distant  signal.  It  is  standing  at  clear ! " 
he  said,  and  sank  back. 


290  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

And  thus  the  soul  of  Muckle  Alick  passed  out  of  the 
station — with  the  distant  signal  standing  at  clear. 

They  brought  the  little  wife  in  to  him  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  after.  Already  her  face  seemed  to  have  shrunk  to 
half  its  size  and  was  paler  than  Alick's  own.  The  doctor 
had  him  wrapped  delicately  and  reverently  in  the  station 
master's  wife's  fairest  linen.  The  face  was  untouched 
and  beautiful,  and  as  composed  as  it  was  on  Sacrament 
Sabbaths  when  he  carried  in  the  elements  at  the  head  of 
the  session,  as  it  is  the  custom  for  the  elders  to  do  in  the 
Cameronian  Kirk. 

His  wife  went  up  to  him  quietly  and  laid  her  hand  on 
his  broad  white  brow.  "  My  man — my  ain  man  ! "  she 
said.  And  she  bent  down  and  touched  it,  not  with  her 
lips  but  with  her  cheek. 

She  looked  up  at  the  station  master's  wife. 

"  He  aye  liked  me  to  do  that ! "  she  said,  smiling  a 
little,  as  it  were,  bashfully. 

And  in  all  the  room,  where  now  stood  ministers  and 
doctors,  men  and  women  that  loved  him  well,  hers  were 
the  only  dry  eyes  that  dark  midnight. 

"  I  wad  like  to  get  him  hame  the  nicht,  if  it's  nae 
great  trouble  till  j^e,"  she  said  ;  "  I  think  I  wad  be  mair 
composed  gin  I  had  him  hame  to  me  the  nicht !  " 

So  they  took  her  dead  home  to  her  to  quiet  Sandy- 
knowes.  They  carried  him  through  between  the  beds  of 
dusky  flowers  and  laid  him  in  his  own  chamber.  Then 
they  left  her  alone.  For  so  she  desired  it.  The  wander- 
ing children,  Hugh  and  Gavin,  were  asleep  in  the  next 
room.  So  Mirren  watched  her  man  all  that  night,  and 
never  took  her  eyes  ofE  the  broad  noble  brow,  save  once 
when  little  Gavin  woke  and  cried.  Then  she  rose  calmly 
and  prepared  him  a  bottle  of  milk,  mixing  it  with  especial 
care.    As  she  did  so  she  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  out 


CLEG  COLLECTS  TICKETS.  291 

into  the  dark.  And  there  on  the  brae  face  was  the  light 
of  the  distant  signal  shining  like  a  star  in  the  midst  of 
the  brightening  sky  of  morn. 


ADVENTUEE  XLIX. 

CLEG   COLLECTS   TICKETS. 

Cleg  Kelly  had  long  finished  the  tarring  of  the  hnt 
at  the  Summit.  Poet  Jock  had  not  come  home,  though 
it  was  after  ten  at  night.  Auld  Chairlie  wandered  to  and 
fro  in  front  of  the  house  and  out  on  the  muir  at  the  back, 
waiting  upon  him  and  complaining  that  the  supper  would 
be  spoiled.  Cleg  busied  himself  with  "  reddin'  up  "  till 
it  grew  too  dark  to  see.  That  is,  he  carried  all  the  old 
mouldy  boots  to  a  moss-hole  and  sank  them  out  of  sight. 
Then  he  arranged  all  the  useful  articles  each  upon  its  own 
shelf  round  the  walls,  and  the  bunks  were  never  so  well 
made  before  nor  the  stove  so  bright. 

But  not  that  night,  nor  yet  for  three  nights  did  Poet 
Jock  return.  It  was  seven  o'clock  on  the  evening  of  the 
third  day  when  he  arrived.  He  came  walking  up  the  Big 
Cutting  with  his  head  sunk  on  his  breast,  and  he  did 
not  even  look  up  when  Cleg  called  to  him.  He  came  in 
slowly,  and  instead  either  of  explaining,  inquiring  heartily 
for  supper,  or  sniffing  as  usual  at  the  fragrant  steam  of 
the  frying  pan,  he  threw  himself  down  on  the  wooden 
shelf  which  constituted  his  bed. 

"What  has  happened  to  ye.  Poet  Jock?  Where  hae 
ye  been  ?  Ye'll  be  reported,  as  sure  as  daith,"  said  Auld 
Chairlie,  after  sileiit  contemplation  of  this  marvel  for  full 
five  minutes.    "  Hae  ye  been  f  u',  or  has  she  gi'en  you  up  ?  " 


292  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

The  last  was  a  question  prompted  by  the  fleeting 
nature  of  Poet  Jock's  loves,  and  the  ever  recurring 
crisis  through  which  his  muse  had  to  pass  before  he 
could  settle  upon  a  worthy  successor  to  the  late  faith- 
less fair. 

But  Poet  Jock  lay  still  and  made  no  answer. 

"  Are  ye  no  for  ony  supper  ? "  said  Cleg,  practical!}', 
who  was  now  as  familiar  and  free  of  the  little  cabin  of  the 
Summit  as  if  he  had  been  the  poet's  twin  brother — a  little 
more  so,  in  fact,  for  Jock  was  not  on  speaking  terms  with 
his  brother.  To  tell  the  truth,  his  brother  and  he  had 
had  a  fight  on  Monday  fortnight  at  the  level  crossing — 
the  subject  of  contention  being  the  minister's  sermon  the 
Sabbath  before.  The  theology  of  Poet  Jock  prevailed. 
His  logic  was  most  convincing.  He  "downed"  his 
brother  three  times.  But  though  his  brother  owned  that 
he  had  had  enough  of  theology,  he  had  not  since  visited 
at  the  hut  on  the  Summit.  But  for  all  that  they  con- 
tinued to  sit  side  by  side  on  Sabbaths  in  the  kirk,  and 
to  look  on  the  family  psalm-book,  taking  it  as  usual  in 
turns  to  find  the  places  and  shutting  the  book  unani- 
mously when  a  paraphrase  was  given  out. 

It  was  now  the  fourth  day  of  Cleg's  sojourn  at  the 
hut.  Every  day  he  had  gone  up  to  the  top  of  the  craigs 
that  looked  towards  Loch  Spellanderie.  And  each  day 
his  resolve  never  to  go  near  the  place  again  because  of  the 
faithlessness  of  woman,  sensibly  weakened. 

But  he  had  something  else  to  think  about  now.  For 
since  he  came  into  the  domains  of  the  kindly  surfacemen, 
Cleg  had  seen  nothing  so  mysterious  as  the  obstinate  re- 
fusal of  the  Poet  to  take  any  supper. 

Auld  Chairlie  tried  again. 

"  Look  you  here,"  he  said,  "  either  you  tell's  what  is 
the  maitter  wi'  ye,  or  I'll  send  doon  wi'  the  late  passenger 


CLEG  COLLECTS  TICKETS.  293 

for  the  doctor  to  come  up  the  first  thing  the  morn's 
niornin' ! " 

Poor  Jock  groaned,  but  said  nothing  for  some 
minutes. 

"  Chaps,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  may  as  weel  tell  ye. 
Muckle  Alick  at  Netherby  was  killed  handing  the  points 
to  let  by  the  boat  train.  And  his  wee  bit  wife's  a  widow 
the  nicht !  I  hae  been  at  JSTetherby  lettin'  a  man  off  to 
fill  his  place." 

Auld  Chairlie  dropped  the  tin  platter  which  was  in 
his  hand. 

"  0  Lord,"  he  said,  "  could  ye  no  hae  ta'en  ony  o'  the 
lave  o'  us  ?  It  wadna  hae  made  so  verra  muckle  differ — 
But  Alick " 

He  stood  still  contemplating  the  gap  that  there  was  in 
the  world. 

"  That's  what  they  hae  been  crying  at  me  off  the  en- 
gine the  last  twa  days,  but  I'm  gettin'  that  deaf  I  couldna 
hear ! " 

But  Cleg  was  prompt  in  action  as  ever. 

'•  Guidnicht,  lads,"  he  said,  "  I'm  gaun  doon  to  Neth- 
erby  to  see  gin  I  can  be  ony  use." 

Poet  Jock  started  up  from  his  bunk,  instinctively 
guarding  his  head  from  the  roof  even  in  the  midst  of  his 
distress  of  mind. 

"  What  hae  ye  to  do  wi'  it?"  he  cried,  his  voice  sound- 
ing angry,  though  he  was  not  angry. 

"The  twa  bairns  I  telled  ye  aboot  are  in  Muckle 
Alick's  hoose.  He  saved  their  lives,  and  I'm  gaun  doon 
the  noo  to  see  what  I  can  do  for  them." 

"  Ye  canna  gang  that  gate,  man.  "  Ye  hae  nae  claes 
fittin'  for  a  funeral ! "  said  Chairlie.  "Ye  hae  nocht  but 
that  auld  sack  ! " 

"I'm  no  carin',"  stoutly  asserted   Cleg,  "I'm  gaun 


294:  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

cloon  to  see  if  I  can  help.  It's  no  tlie  funeral  I'm  carin' 
for,  it's  what's  to  come  after." 

Poet  Jock  got  up  and  began  cautiously  to  forage  on 
all  the  shelves. 

"  A'  my  things  are  awesome  big  across,"  he  said,  "  but 
maybe  there  will  be  eneuch  amang  us  to  fit  ye  oot." 

Cleg's  wardrobe  had  dwindled  to  a  shirt  and  a  pair  of 
trousers.     He  had  lost  his  cap  in  Loch  Spellanderie. 

But  Auld  Chairlie  found  him  a  pair  of  socks  and  a 
pair  of  boots — which,  though  they  were  not  "  marrows  " 
or  neighbours,  were  yet  wearable  enough.  Cleg  treated 
himself  to  a  sleeved  waistcoat,  which,  by  merely  shifting 
the  buttons,  became  a  highly  useful  garment.  It  had 
been  exposed  for  some  time  to  the  weather,  and  when 
Cleg  saw  it,  it  was  mounted  upon  two  sticks,  out  in  the 
little  patch  of  cornland  which  Poet  Jock  had  sown  at  the 
back  of  the  cabin,  upon  a  quarter  acre  of  ground  which 
the  company  had  included  within  its  wire  fence  with 
some  idea  of  constructing  a  siding  some  day,  when  the 
traffic  increased. 

"  Where  gat  ye  that  braw  waistcoat  ? "  queried  Poet 
Jock  when  he  came  in,  looking  admiringly  at  the  remark- 
able change  in  Cleg's  appearance. 

"01  juist  changed  claes  wi'  the  craw-bogle  ! "  replied 
Cleg  with  a  quiet  complacency,  which  became  him  like 
his  new  garment. 

"  Dod,"  said  Auld  Chairlie,  "  it's  a  maist  remarkable 
improvement,  I  declare." 

Poet  Jock  gave  Cleg  a  grey  woollen  shirt  with  a  collar 
attached  which  had  washed  too  small  for  him,  but  which 
still  reached  nearly  to  Cleg's  feet.  He  added  a  red-and- 
green  tie  of  striking  beauty  (guaranteed  to  kill  up  to  sixty 
yards),  and  an  old  railway  cap,  which  had  been  a  cast- 
away of  some  former  occupant  of  the  cabin. 


CLEG  COLLECTS  TICKETS.  295 

"  There,  noo,"  he  said,  when  Cleg  was  finally  arrayed. 
"  Ye  are  nane  so  ill  put  on !  Ye  micht  e'en  gang  to  the 
funeral.  I  hae  seen  mair  unfaceable  folk  mony  a  time. 
I'll  get  ye  on  the  late  express,  that  is,  if  it  is  no  Sulky 
Jamie  that's  in  chairge  o'  her." 

Sulky  Jamie  was  the  name  of  a  guard  who  withheld 
his  hand  from  any  work  of  mercy,  if  it  involved  the  least 
irregularity.  He  was  an  incomparably  faithful  servant  to 
the  railway  company  of  Port  Andrew.  But  he  could  not 
be  said  to  be  popular  among  his  fellow  servants  along 
the  line. 

So  Poet  Jock,  seeing  that  Cleg  was  bent  upon  his 
quest,  withstood  him  no  more,  but  walked  all  the  long 
way  down  the  incline  with  him  to  Dunnure  station,  and 
there  waited  to  pick  up  a  "chance  of  a  ride"  on  the 
night  passenger.  For  no  one  in  the  cabin  had  a  farthing 
of  money.  Poet  Jock,  indeed,  never  had  any  four  days 
after  pay  day,  and  Auld  Chairlie  always  sent  his  down  to 
be  banked,  saving  only  what  had  to  be  paid  monthly  to 
Sanders  Bee,  the  shopkeeper  at  the  Dunnure  huts,  for 
their  provisions. 

"  I  canna  trust  mysel'  when  there's  siller  in  the  hoose !  " 
said  Auld  Chairlie,  who  knew  himself  to  be  a  brand 
plucked  from  the  burning,  and  still  glowing  a  little  below 
the  surface. 

But  it  was  with  great  good  hope  that  Poet  Jock  walked 
with  Cleg  to  Dunnure,  in  order  to  arrange  a  free  passage 
for  him  down  to  Netherby. 

The  last  "  stopping "  passenger  before  the  boat  train 
was  late,  and  they  had  a  good  while  to  wait  in  the  ill- 
lighted  station. 

But  it  came  at  last,  and  lo !  Sulky  Jamie  was  in  charge. 

Poet  Jock  went  boldly  up  to  his  van  and  tackled  him. 
He  stated  the  case  with  eloquence  and  lucidity.    He  argued 


296  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

with  him,  as  Sulky  Jamie  moved  to  and  fro,  swinging  his 
lantern  and  never  looking  at  him. 

But  the  guard  was  incorruptible,  as  indeed  he  ought 
to  have  been.  No  tramp  should  come  on  his  train  so  long 
as  he  was  the  guard  of  it. 

Whereupon  Poet  Jock,  stung  to  the  quick,  told  Sulky 
Jamie  his  opinion  of  him.  He  said  that  when  it  came  his 
time  to  leave  the  line,  there  would  be  a  hurrah  which 
would  run  along  the  metals  from  Port  Andrew  to  Nether- 
by.  He  further  informed  him  that  there  was  one  tes- 
timonial which  would  be  subscribed  with  enthusiasm 
among  his  mates — a  cofFm  for  Sulky  Jamie.  But  even 
that  only  on  condition  that  he  would  promptly  engage  to 
occupy  it.  Poet  Jock  ended  by  offering  to  prepare  him 
for  burial  on  the  spot,  and  was  in  the  act  of  declaring 
that  he  would  put  all  these  things  into  rhyme  when  the 
guard  blew  his  whistle. 

Cleg  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  but  Sulky  Jamie  had  had 
his  eyes  wide  open  while  he  listened  to  the  poet.  He  blew 
his  whistle  again,  waved  the  lamp,  and  stopped  the  train 
as  it  was  moving  out  of  the  station.  He  plunged  into  the 
forward  van,  which  was  sacred  to  the  "  through  "  luggage. 
In  a  moment  Cleg  came  out  with  a  fling  which  sent  him 
head  first  upon  the  platform.  A  white-haired  military- 
looking  man  looking  out  of  the  next  carriage  laughed 
loudly,  and  clapped  his  hands  with  glee. 

This  act  of  Sulky  Jamie's  aroused  Poet  Jock  to  fury. 

"  Wait,"  he  cried,  "  wait  till  the  fast  day  an'  I'll  settle 
wi'  ye,  ye  muckle  swine,  pitchin'  oot  the  bit  boy  like  that." 

But  Sulky  Jamie  was  unmoved. 

"  I'll  be  pleased  to  see  ye  on  the  fast  day  or  ony  ither 
day.  But  I'll  hae  nae  tramps  on  my  train!"  said  he,  as 
he  swung  himself  on  board. 

But,  had  he  known  it,  he  was  carrying  one  at  that 


CLEG  COLLECTS  TICKETS.  297 

moment.  For  it  so  happened  that  a  Pullman  carriage^ 
had  been  invalided  from  the  morning  boat  train  owing  to 
a  heated  axle  and  an  injury  to  the  grease  box.  Now  the 
resources  of  the  Port  Andrew  fitting  shop,  though  ade- 
quate for  all  ordinary  purposes,  were  not  sufficient  to  deal 
with  the  constitution  of  such  a  delicate  and  high-bred 
work  of  art  as  a  bogie  Pullman. 

So  Cleg  waited  till  he  saw  the  guard  at  Dunnure  sta- 
tion raise  his  hand  to  blow  his  whistle.  Then  he  darted 
sideways,  in  and  out  among  the  carriages,  and  before  the 
train  was  properly  in  motion  he  was  lying  at  full  length 
on  the  framework  of  the  bogie  part  of  the  Pullman. 

With  a  growl  and  a  roar  the  train  started.  Cleg's 
heart  beat  quickly.  He  was  jolted  this  way  and  that. 
The  dust  and  small  stones  swept  up  by  the  draught  under 
the  train  nearly  blinded  him.  But  Cleg  hung  on  desper- 
ately. He  had  determined  at  all  hazards  to  travel  upon 
Sulky  Jamie's  train.  So  the  boy  clutched  the  bars  tighter 
and  twined  his  feet  more  firmly  round  the  bogie,  deter- 
mined to  win  his  passage  to  Netherby  in  spite  of  all  the 
ill-natured  guards  in  the  world. 

Indeed,  the  jarring  laugh  of  the  man  with  the  white 
moustache  when  he  was  thrown  out  at  Dunnure  station, 
rankled  much  more  in  his  small  heathen  heart  than  the 
hard  heart  of  Sulky  Jamie. 

"  What  was  his  business  wi'  it  ? "  Cleg  demanded  of 
himself  half  a  dozen  times,  during  that  interminable 
period  before  they  came  to  the  next  station. 

The  train  stopped  at  last,  and  Cleg  dashed  the  wet 
locks  oif  his  brow  and  cuddled  his  beam  closer.  He 
could  stand  it  out  now,  he  thought.  He  was  congratu- 
lating himself  on  being  in  Netherby  in  a  few  minutes, 
when  he  heard  the  military  voice  above  him. 

" Guard,"  it  said,  "the  boy  you  threw  out  of  the  train 
20 


298  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

at  Dunnure  got  in  below  the  empty  Pallman.  I  think  he 
is  in  there  now." 

Then  Sulky  Jamie  swore  loudly  and  emphatically. 
Cleg  could  hear  him  swinging  himself  down  from  the 
platform  upon  the  line. 

The  reflection  of  the  lantern  showed  him  the  bars  and 
wheels  of  the  forward  bogie. 

But  Cleg  did  not  wait  for  the  arrival  of  Sulky  Jamie. 
He  dropped  down  and  sped  out  at  the  dark  side  of  the 
station,  with  bitter  anger  in  his  heart  against  the  inter- 
fering military  man.  As  he  looked  down  from  the  wire 
paling  he  saw  the  deserted  platform  of  Kewton  Edward, 
and  a  vengeful  thought  struck  him.  He  ran  quickly 
round  the  stern  light  of  the  train  and  climbed  upon  the 
platform.  A  lantern  was  sitting  on  a  barrow.  The  sta- 
tion master  was  talking  to  the  engine  driver  far  away  at 
the  end,  for  the  late  train  was  always  long.  The  guard 
was  routing  out  tramps  beneath  the  Pullman. 

With  sudden  determination  Cleg  pulled  the  stem  of 
his  cap  over  his  eyes,  and  buttoned  the  sleeved  waistcoat 
of  railway  velveteen  closer  about  him.  Then  he  took  the 
lantern  in  hand.  He  was  going  to  pay  his  debts  to  that 
evil-conditioned  military  man  with  the  white  moustache. 

He  could  see  him  now,  sitting  at  his  ease,  and  trying 
to  read  his  paper  by  the  light  of  the  miserable  oil  lamp,  fed 
with  scanty  drains  of  dirty,  half -melted  oil,  which  to  this 
day  is  supplied  as  an  illuminant  by  the  Port  Andrew 
Eailway  Company. 

Cleg  opened  the  door  smartly. 

"  Ticket,  sir !  "  he  said  briskly. 

The  military  man  put  his  hand  in  his  side  pocket,  and 
handed  out  his  ticket  without  looking  up,  with  the  ease 
and  freedom  of  a  well-seasoned  traveller.  He  never  took 
his  eyes  off  his  paper. 


CLEG  COLLECTS  TICKETS.  299 

"  ISTetlierby — right,  sir !  "  said  Cleg  Kelly,  ticket  col- 
lector. 

Then  Cleg  went  to  the  nearest  compartment  and 
promptly  jumped  in.  It  was  half  full  of  sleepy  com- 
mercial travellers,  who  took  little  notice  of  the  curiously 
attired  boy. 

Cleg  could  hear  the  tramp  of  his  enemy  as  he  came  up 
from  routing  below  the  Pullman.  It  sounded  sulkier  than 
ever  upon  the  platform. 

"  Did  not  you  nab  him  ?  "  cried  the  voice  of  the  mili- 
tary man  from  his  carriage  window. 

"  None  of  your  gammon  ! "  replied  the  other  voice. 
And  the  whistle  sounded  promptly. 

The  temper  of  Sulky  James  was  distinctly  ruffled. 

The  train  ran  on  down  to  JSTetherby.  There  the 
tickets  were  taken  at  the  little  platform  to  which  Muckle 
Alick  had  so  often  run,  late  and  early,  with  lamp  in 
hand.  It  was  a  sleepy  emergency  man  from  the  head 
offices  who  took  the  tickets  in  Cleg's  compartment.  He 
lumped  them  all  together,  and  paid  no  attention  what- 
ever to  the  yellow  first-class  through  ticket  among  its 
green  brethren,  which  Cleg  handed  to  him  with  such  a 
natural  air  of  loafish  awkwardness. 

Clang  went  the  door.  But  the  window  was  down  for 
air,  and  Cleg  could  hear  the  angry  accents  of  Sulky  Jamie 
further  down  the  train. 

"  Nonsense  !  Your  ticket  took  at  the  last  station. 
More  o'  your  gammon,  like  enough.  Find  that  ticket  or 
pay  for  the  journey  from  Port  Andrew — seven-and-nine  ! 
And  look  something  slippy,  too  !  I  can't  keep  my  train 
waiting  all  day  on  the  like  of  you,  and  the  express  due  in 
twenty  minutes." 

Cleg  could  not  catch  the  answer  of  the  military  man. 
But  the  guard's  reply  was  clear. 


300  CLEQ  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  I  don't  care  if  ye  were  the  Prince  of  Wales.  Pay  up, 
or  I'll  give  ye  in  charge  I " 

The  train  started  down  to  the  main  platform.  And 
Cleg  had  the  door  open  before  the  commercials  in  the  cor- 
ner were  more  than  half  awake.  He  slipped  out,  and  ran 
down  the  platform  instead  of  up.  At  the  corner  stood 
James  Cannon's  signal  box,  by  the  side  of  a  white  bridge. 
Cleg  swarmed  up  the  pole  at  the  corner,  set  a  foot  lightly 
on  the  white  painted  palings,  and  dropped  like  a  cat  upon 
the  road. 

He  was  a  modest  boy,  and  did  not  desire  to  give  any 
trouble. 

He  thought  of  the  military  man  with  joy  in  his  heart. 

"  K"ow  I  guess  we're  about  quits ! "  he  said. 


ADVENTURE  L. 

GENERAL  THEOPHILUS  RUFF. 

Cleg  slept  that  night  in  a  hay-shed  half  a  mile  out  of 
the  town.  He  did  not  mean  to  go  to  Sandyknowes  till 
the  morrow.  And  even  then  it  was  not  quite  clear  to  him 
what  he  could  do  to  help  the  widow.  But  as  usual  he 
would  think  it  out  during  the  night. 

The  morning  came,  fiery  with  lamb's  wool  in  fluffy 
wisps  all  about  the  sky.  Cleg  shook  himself,  yawned,  and 
dusted  off  the  hay  from  his  garments. 

Then  he  stepped  over  the  edge  of  the  stack  and  put 
his  foot  to  the  road.  He  was  very  hungry  and  he  had 
nothing  upon  which  to  break  his  fast,  except  only  the 
water  of  the  brook.  He  stooped  at  the  first  burn  which 
crossed  the  road,  and  drank  his  fill.     Presently  he  met  a 


GENERAL  THEOPHILUS  RUFF.       30:, 

man  who  came  walking  smartly  down  the  road.  He  car- 
ried a  cow  switch  in  his  hand  and  chewed  a  straw. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  the  road  to  Sandyknowes,  if  you 
please  ?  "  said  Cleg,  politely. 

The  rustic  with  the  straw  in  his  mouth  looked  at  Cleg 
all  over  carefully.  Then  he  roared  with  laughter,  while 
Cleg  flushed  angrily. 

"  Your  boots  are  no  marrows ! "  *  he  cried.  "  0  Lord, 
a  stemmed  bonnet  and  his  grandfather's  waistcoat ! " 

And  he  went  off  again  into  such  a  fit  of  laughter  that 
he  let  the  straw  slip  out  of  his  mouth.  But  he  perceived 
his  loss,  and  lifted  it  from  the  dust,  wiping  it  carefully 
upon  the  dirtiest  part  of  his  trousers  before  restoring  it  to 
the  corner  of  his  mouth. 

"  Can  ye  tell  me  the  road  to  Sandyknowes,  man  ?  "  said 
Cleg  again,  with  a  little  more  sharpness  and  less  politeness. 

"  I  can,  but  I'll  no ! "  gaped  the  rustic.  And  he  went 
into  another  prolonged  fit  of  merriment,  fairly  hugging 
himself  and  squirming  in  his  enjoyment.  It  was  the  best 
jest  he  had  had  for  a  month.  And  he  rather  fancied  he 
landed  some  good  ones. 

Cleg  Kelly's  hand  dropped  upon  a  stone.  The  stone 
whizzed  through  the  air,  and  took  effect  on  the  third  but- 
ton of  the  man  of  straw's  new  waistcoat. 

The  laugh  ended  in  a  gasp.  The  gasp  was  succeeded 
by  a  bad  word,  and  then  the  young  man  gave  chase.  Cleg 
pretended  to  run  slowly — "  to  encourage  him,"  as  he  said 
afterwards.  The  yokel  thought  all  the  time  that  he  was 
just  about  to  catch  Cleg,  but  always  just  at  the  critical 
moment  that  slippery  youth  darted  a  dozen  yards  ahead 
and  again  avoided  him. 

At  last  the  young  man  gave  up  the  chase.     He  had 


*  Not  neighbours. 


302  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

suffered  indignities  enough.  He  had  lost  his  straw.  But 
he  had  an  appointment  to  keep  with  a  farmer  three  miles 
further  on  to  whom  he  was  offering  his  valuable  services. 
So  he  had  perforce  to  turn  away,  and  content  himself 
with  promising  what  he  would  do  to  Cleg  when  he  caught 
him. 

What  Cleg  did  was  simpler.  He  patrolled  the  heights 
above,  keeping  exact  pace,  step  for  step,  with  his  enemy 
below.  And  with  the  aid  of  the  pebbles  which  plentifully 
strewed  the  brae  face,  he  afforded  the  young  man  of  the 
straw  some  of  the  finest  and  most  interesting  active  exer- 
cise in  getting  out  of  the  way  he  had  had  for  many  years. 
Indeed,  his  whole  line  of  march  for  more  than  a  mile  was 
completely  enfiladed  by  the  artillery  of  the  enemy. 

"  "Will  ye  tell  me  the  road  to  Sandyknowes  noo  ?  "  cried 
Cleg,  jubilantly,  as  he  kept  the  youth  skipping  from  side 
to  side  of  the  highway. 

At  last  he  bade  his  adversary  farewell,  with  a  double 
machine  gun  fire  of  words  and  heavier  ammunition. 

"  This  will  maybe  learn  ye,  country,"  he  cried,  "  after 
this  to  gie  a  civil  answer  to  a  civil  question." 

"  Wait  till  I  catch  you "  the  young  man  shouted, 

stung  to  desperation. 

Whereupon,  just  for  luck,  Cleg  ran  in  and  delivered  a 
volley  at  point  blank  range,  which  sent  the  man  of  straw 
clattering  up  the  road.  It  was  certainly  not  wise  to  dally 
with  the  prize  marksman  of  the  Sooth  Back,  who  in  his 
good  days  could  break  any  particular  pane  in  a  fifth 
story  window  that  you  liked  to  specify,  nine  times  out 
of  ten. 

After  this  Cleg  Kelly  returned  along  the  heights  to 
find  out  the  way  to  Sandyknowes  for  himself.  More  than 
a  mile  back  a  girl  driving  cows  pointed  out  to  him  the 
little  path  which  led  up  to  Mirren's  door.     But  Cleg  did 


GENERAL  THEOPHILUS  RUFF.  303 

not  go  up  directly.  He  played  idly  about,  "whittling 
sticks  and  poking  in  hedge  roots  in  his  assumed  character 
of  vagrant  boy.  Yet  all  the  time  he  kept  a  bright  look- 
out upon  the  door  of  the  little  house  among  the  flower- 
beds. The  window  blinds  were  drawn  down,  and  stared 
white  like  empty  eye  sockets  of  bone.  The  thought  of 
the  brave,  strong  man  who  lay  dead  within  oppressed 
Cleg's  heart.  Presently  he  saw  a  woman  come  to  the 
door,  and  go  after  the  cow  over  the  little  meadow  pasture. 
Muckle  Alick's  wife,  he  thought.  But  he  was  wrong.  It 
was  her  warm-hearted  neighbour,  Mistress  Eraser.  Then 
presently  he  saw  Boy  Hugh  come  running  round  the  back 
of  the  house. 

Cleg  had  arrived  in  time  for  Muckle  Alick's  funeral 
day.  The  large  company  of  mourners  began  to  gather 
very  early.  All  the  town  of  Netherby  was  there.  Even 
the  District  Superintendent  of  the  railway,  who  happened 
to  be  in  the  neighbourhood  on  a  tour,  had  telegraphed  for 
his  "  best  blacks  "  from  his  wife  in  Greenock.  And  there 
he  was  standing  outside  the  house,  waiting  for  the  minis- 
ter to  finish  the  service,  like  any  common  man. 

Poor  James  Cannon  was  there,  the  tears  coursing 
steadily  down  his  cheeks.  The  provost  and  magistrates 
were  there.  Every  member  of  the  School  Board  was 
there,  all  agreed  for  once.  Such  a  funeral  had  never  been 
seen  in  !N"etherby  within  the  memory  of  man.  That  was 
the  exact  phrase  used  (it  is  believed  not  for  the  first  time) 
in  describing  the  occasion  in  the  "Netherby  Chronicle 
and  Advertiser."  But  otherwise  Alick's  dying  request 
for  silence  was  scrupulously  regarded. 

When  the  hearse  moved  away  from  the  door,  and  the 
sombre  congregation  fell  in  behind  it,  Mirren  Douglas 
came  to  the  door  and  watched  it  out  of  sight.  The  good 
women  who  abode  in  the  house  to  company  with  her  in 


304  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

her  bereavement,  begged  her  to  go  in  and  compose  her- 
self.    But  she  would  not. 

"  I  am  in  no  ways  discomposed,"  she  said,  "  but  I  will 
watch  him  oot  o'  sicht  for  the  last  time.  I  did  it  every 
mornin',  ye  ken,"  she  explained  to  them.  "Let  me 
bide ! " 

The  black  procession  went  serpentining  down  the  road 
from  Sandyknowes,  the  men  pacing  slowly  and  gravely 
after  the  horses  between  the  summer  hedges  and  under 
the  green  beech  leaves. 

Soon  it  approached  the  turn  which  would  hide  the 
hearse  from  those  standing  at  the  door  of  the  house.  But 
a  little  hillock  rose,  grassy  to  the  top,  at  the  gable  end.  It 
was  the  place  to  which  she  was  used  to  run  out  to  watch 
for  his  return,  in  order  to  "  mask  "  the  tea  in  time  for  his 
supper,  that  all  might  be  ready  for  him  when  he  came 
home  wearied. 

Mirren  Douglas  ran  out  thither,  and,  standing  on  the 
top  of  the  hillock,  she  waved  her  hand  to  that  which  was 
going  out  of  sight.     She  did  not  care  who  saw  her. 

"  Fare  ye  weel,  Alick,"  she  cried,  "  fare  ye  weel  that 
ever  wast  o'  men  the  kindest.  Few  are  the  choice  hearts 
that  will  match  thine — aye,  even  up  there,  where  thou  art 
gane.  And  nane  like  to  thysel'  hast  thou  left  amang  us. 
Fare  ye  weel,  my  ain  man  Alick !  ISTaebody's  man  but 
mine ! " 

And  with  that  she  turned  and  walked  in  quite  quietly. 

As  the  funeral  passed  the  end  of  the  road.  Cleg  with- 
drew behind  the  hedge,  because,  though  his  heart  was  full 
of  love  for  the  strong  man  whom  he  had  seen  but  once,  he 
did  not  wish  to  disgrace  that  solemn  procession  with  his 
sleeved  waistcoat  and  unpaired  boots.  As  the  hearse 
passed  him  Cleg  took  off  his  railway  cap  and  stood  bare- 
headed behind  the  hedge.     So  intent  was  he  on  the  pro- 


GENERAL  THEOPHILUS  RUFF.  305 

cession,  that  he  did  not  see  a  tall  tightly-coated  man  of 
military  carriage  who  had  stepped  over  the  field  towards 
him,  and  now  stood  silently  by  his  side.  The  old  officer 
also  took  off  his  hat,  and  stood  reverently  enough  till  the 
last  of  the  mourners  had  passed  by. 

Then  he  laid  his  hand  upon  Cleg's  shoulder. 

"  I'll  trouble  you  for  the  price  of  my  railway  ticket !  " 
he  said.  Cleg  turned.  It  was  the  man  who  had  laughed 
when  he  was  pitched  out  of  the  carriage  at  Dunnure  by 
Sulky  Jamie ! 

For  a  moment  his  readiness  forsook  Cleg.  He  stood 
silent  and  gazed  dumbly  at  the  tall  figure  before  him,  and 
at  the  right  hand  which  pulled  grimly  at  the  drooping 
moustache. 

"  You  had  better  come  away  to  the  police  station  !  " 
said  the  gentleman. 

"  Ye'll  hae  to  catch  me  first,  then  !  "  cried  Cleg,  sud- 
denly twisting  himself  free  and  springing  over  into  the 
highway.  The  old  soldier  made  no  attempt  to  follow,  but 
continued  to  gaze  fixedly  at  Cleg. 

"  What  is  your  name,  boy  ?  "  he  said,  still  keeping  his 
eyes  upon  the  lad. 

"  Slim  Jim  Snipe  o'  Slippery  Lane ! "  cried  Cleg  prompt- 
ly, "  and  muckle  obleeged  to  ye  for  speerin' ! " 

"  You  young  imp  !  "  cried  the  old  man,  advancing  to 
the  fence  with  his  cane  uplifted  threateningly,  "would 
you  dare  to  insult  me  ?  " 

Cleg  retreated. 

"  That's  a  guid  enough  name  to  gie  to  the  poliss,"  he 
said.  "  If  ye  ask  me  ceevilly,  I'll  tell  you.  Nae  thanks 
to  you  that  I  got  here  ava  !  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  old  soldier,  lifting 
his  hat  as  to  an  equal,  with  a  certain  punctilious  re- 
straint.    "  I  have  the  honour  to  inform  you  that  my  name 


306  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

is  Major-General  Theophilus  Kuff,  of  Barnbogle  and 
Trostan." 

"  And  mine,"  said  Cleg  Kelly,  taking  oft  his  stemmed 
bonnet  as  politely,  "  is  Cleg  Kelly  o'  the  Sooth  Back  o' 
the  Canongate,  and  late  o'  Callendar's  Yaird ! " 

The  General  bowed  ceremoniously. 

"  And  now,"  he  said, "  what  do  you  propose  to  do  about 
my  railway  ticket  ?  " 

"  I'll  work  it  out !  "  said  Cleg,  quickly. 

There  was  something  in  "  the  looks  of  the  starchy  old 
geeser"  (as  Cleg  remarked  to  himself)  which  the  boy 
rather  liked,  though  without  doubt  he  was  mad  as  a 
hatter. 

"  Work  it  out,"  cried  the  General ;  "  what  can  you  do  ?" 

"Anything  !  "  said  Cleg.  (It  was  his  one  touch  of  his 
father's  dialect  that  he  still  said  "  annything.") 

"  That's  nothing ! "  said  the  General. 

"  Wait  till  you  see,"  retorted  Cleg.  "  You  try  me.  I'm 
nae  country  gawk,  but  reared  in  the  heart  o'  the  toon.  I 
can  rin  errands.  I  can  howk  *  yairds  for  taties — or,"  he 
added,  thinking  of  his  flower-garden  round  the  old  con- 
struction hut,  "  for  flooers.  And  if  I  dinna  ken  the  way 
to  do  ony thing,  I  can  find  oot." 

The  General  appeared  to  consider. 

"  Do  you  see  that  house  over  there  among  the  trees — 
across  the  railway  ?  " 

"  Aye,"  said  Cleg,  "  I  canna  help  seein'  it !  It's  big 
eneuch  and  ugly  eneuch  to  be  a  jail ! " 

"Do  you  think  that  you  could  keep  that  house  in 
order?" 

"  Me  ?  "  said  Cleg,  "  me  keep  yon  hoose— it's  as  big  as 
the  Infirmary." 

*Dig. 


GENERAL  THEOPHILUS  RUFF.       307 

"  I  live  there  all  by  myself,"  said  the  General.  "  I  can 
not  have  women  about  my  place.  The  sight  of  them  kills 
me.  And  I  can  not  trust  a  grown  man  not  to  bring  a 
woman  about  the  place.     I  might  try  a  lad." 

Cleg  looked  carefully  from  the  General  to  the  house 
and  back  again.  He  was  not  sure  that  it  might  not  be  a 
joke. 

"  Have  you  a  character  ?  "  asked  the  old  man. 

"Aye,"  said  Cleg,  "  Miss  Celie  wad  gie  me  yin." 

The  General  turned  pale  and  stamped  with  his  foot. 

"A  woman,"  he  said,  "  I  could  not  apply  to  a  woman. 
There  is  always  something  odious  about  a  woman's  letter. 
I  actually  do  not  recover  from  the  shock  of  handling  the 
writing  of  one  of  them  for  days.  Do  you  not  know  any 
one  else  ?  " 

"  There's  Maister  Donald  Iverach,"  said  Cleg.  "  He 
wad  gie  me  a  character  if  I  got  Miss  Celie  to  ask  him," 
answered  Cleg. 

"  My  nephew  in  Edinburgh,  that  young  three-legged 
stool !  You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  cried  the  General. 
"  I  would  not  give  a  brass  button  for  his  own  character. 
And  besides,  from  the  tone  in  which  you  speak,  I  have 
little  doubt  that  the  two  persons  you  mention  are  contem- 
plating matrimony.  I  do  not  wish  any  communication 
with  anything  so  disgusting — much  less  when  one  of  the 
parties  is  an  ungrateful  and  grasping  relative  of  my 
own." 

By  this  time  Cleg  had  had  enough  of  the  General's 
catechism. 

"  I'll  be  requiring  a  reference  mysel',"  he  said,  in  the 
tone  which  he  had  heard  Mistress  Roy  of  the  paper- 
shop  adopt,  when  a  new  customer  asked  for  a  week's 
credit. 

"A  what?  "  said  the  General,  astonished. 


308  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  A  reference  as  to  your  moral  character,  if  I  am  to 
serve  in  your  house ! "  replied  Cleg,  unabashed. 

The  General  clapped  his  hands  with  unfeigned 
pleasure. 

"  Bless  you,  my  boy,  you  please  me ! "  he  said,  chuck- 
ling ;  "  do  you  know  that  it  is  more  than  fifty  years  since 
General  Theophilus  Kuff  had  such  a  thing  ?  " 

'*  All  right,"  said  Cleg,  "  suppose  we  chance  the  moral 
characters." 

"  Done ! "  said  the  old  soldier,  offering  Cleg  his  hand. 

Cleg  took  it  and  wrung  it  hard. 

"  I  think  we'll  agree  very  well,"  he  said.  "  I  may  be 
Euff  by  name,  but  I  am  Theophilus  by  nature.  That's 
Greek,  my  boy — all  I  can  remember,  indeed.  The  folk 
about  here  will  tell  you  that  I  am  crazy.  They  are  no 
judges.  And  my  nephew  wishes  I  were.  Once  his  father 
tried  to  prove  it.  But  when  the  judge  had  once  looked 
inside  my  account  books,  and  examined  my  system  of 
bookkeeping,  he  said  that,  mad  as  I  might  be,  it  was  a 
kind  of  madness  which  was  very  well  able  to  take  care  of 
itself." 

Cleg  accompanied  the  General  over  the  fields  to  his 
house.  The  walks  and  drives  were  completely  overgrown 
with  mossy  grass  and  tangled  ferns.  The  gates  were  all 
padlocked  and  spiked.  Whenever  the  General  came  to 
one,  he  unlocked  it  with  a  brightly  polished  steel  master- 
key  which  he  took  from  his  pocket.  Then,  as  soon  as 
they  had  passed  through,  he  locked  it  behind  him  again 
as  securely  as  before.  "  Spiked  on  the  top,"  he  said  to 
Cleg,  with  a  cunning  look,  "  keeps  out  the  women,  you 
see.  They  don't  like  to  have  their  frills  and  furbelows 
torn." 

Cleg  nodded  as  though  he  understood.  He  was  not 
particular  either  way. 


THE  GENERAL'S  ESTABLISHMENT.  309 

"  By-the-bye,  you  don't  mind  coffins  and  things  ?  "  said 
the  old  soldier,  glancing  swiftly  under  his  brows  at  Cleg. 

"  I  don't  think  so,  if  they  are  empty.  I  yince  slept  in 
a  coffin  shop  for  three  months !  "  said  Cleg. 

"Have  you  anything  you  want  to  settle  before  you 
engage  with  me  ?  "  asked  the  General. 

"  Yes,"  said  Cleg,  "  there's  a  wife  over  the  hedge  yon- 
der that  has  lost  her  man.  And  I  maun  hae  either  the 
afternoon  or  the  forenicht  to  help  her." 

"  Take  any  part  of  the  day  you  like.  Only  change 
your  clothes  when  you  come  back,"  said  the  General  testi- 
ly, "  but  mind,  if  you  bring  any  woman  inside  the  poli- 
cies, I'll  give  you  up  to  the  police  for  obtaining  railway 
tickets  under  false  pretences." 


ADVENTURE  LL 

THE  ge]s:eral's  establishment. 

They  were  now  standing  at  the  front  door.  Cleg  had 
never  seen  such  a  house  as  this  in  his  life.  It  was  barred 
and  defended  like  the  Calton  jail,  but  no  glass  was  to  be 
seen  in  any  of  the  windows.  Indeed,  through  some  of  the 
openings  which  served  for  lighting,  one  could  see  straight 
through  to  the  barred  windows  on  the  further  side. 

Barnbogle  House  had  in  time  past  been  an  ancient 
f ortalice.  But  both  the  former  and  the  present  lairds  had 
spent  large  sums  upon  alterations  and  repairs.  The  latest 
of  these.  General  Theophilus  Euff,  had  a  vast  and  far- 
reaching  local  fame.  Gamesome  lasses  skirled  at  his 
name,  and  refused  to  keep  their  trysts  for  the  terror  of 
meeting  him,  wrapped  in  his  blue  military  cloak,  stalking 


310  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

lonely  by  the  light  of  the  moon.  The  very  poachers 
would  not  fish  in  his  streams  or  shoot  in  his  coverts.  He 
had  at  once  the  repute  of  a  wizard  and  the  fame  of  a 
miser — rich  beyond  calculation,  but  seeing  things  unseen 
to  mortals.  "  He  wasna  canny ! "  summed  up  the  col- 
lective verdict  of  the  countryside. 

Theophilus  KuU  had  been  an  Indian  officer  at  the 
time  of  the  mutiny.  And  those  terrible  days  of  midsum- 
mer when  the  sun  dried  up  the  blood  even  as  it  was  spilt, 
had  changed  the  gay  casual  young  officer  into  the  man 
whom  all  the  country  knew  as  "  the  daft  general." 

His  father  had  been  first  a  spendthrift  and  then  a 
"  neegar  " — that  is,  one  who  has  become  as  great  a  screvr 
as  he  had  formerly  been  a  mighty  and  lavish  spender. 

The  popular  report  of  the  contents  of  Barnbogle 
House  told  of  chests  of  gold  and  silver,  cases  of  the  most 
precious  jewels,  the  spoil  of  captured  Indian  cities — all 
watched  over  by  the  General  himself  with  an  armoury  of 
deadly  weapons.  For  it  was  not  the  least  of  his  terrors 
that  he  dwelt  all  alone  in  that  huge  hundred-barred 
castle. 

Yet  there  had  been  a  time  when  Theophilus  Euff 
drove  coach  and  four,  and  when  he  saw  only  the  gayest  of 
gallant  company.  Among  themselves  the  chin-shaking 
elders  would  tell,  with  many  cross-shoulder  glances,  of  the 
bold  wanton  eyes  of  ladies  with  once  famous  names,  who 
had  sat  beside  Theophilus  Kuif  when  he  drove  that  coach 
and  four,  of  the  golden  candlesticks  which  had  sparkled 
on  the  board,  wide  branching,  holding  aloft  many  lights. 
Then  Barnbogle  was  a  gay  place  indeed,  alive  with  bril- 
liant company,  humming  with  mirth.  For  General  The- 
ophilus RufE  had  "  used  the  company  of  the  singing 
woman,"  and,  as  the  Writ  sayeth,  he  had  been  taken  in 
her  attempts. 


THE  GENERAL'S  ESTABLISHMENT.  311 

"  He's  garrin'  the  Indian  yellow  boys  spin !  "  the  Neth- 
erby  people  said  of  him  at  this  time.  Yet  they  said  it 
with  a  kind  of  pride,  that  such  wickedness  should  have 
happened  in  their  parish. 

But  suddenly  one  morning,  when  the  repair  to  his 
house  was  greatest,  when  gold  tresses  shone  most  aureate, 
bright  eyes  most  winsome  and  sparkling,  Theophilus  EuH 
came  downstairs  and  gave  every  soul  within  his  house  an 
hour's  notice  to  quit.  Great  was  the  consternation, 
mighty  the  upheaval.  Ladies,  lately  so  dehonnaire^  left 
by  carriagefuls  wrangling  fiercely  as  they  went.  Their 
gay  companions  took  horse  and  rode  silently  and  wrath- 
f  ully  away.  Theophilus  Ruff  stood  on  the  step  of  Barn- 
bogle  House  and  grimly  watched  them  go.  Then  he  went 
upstairs,  called  his  servants  into  the  drawing-room,  and 
dismissed  them,  paying  them  their  wages  and  board  for 
six  months  in  full.  He  kept  on  a  stable  man  or  two  till 
he  could  sell  his  horses,  a  manservant  till  he  had  disposed 
of  his  cattle.  Then  he  let  his  more  distant  grass  parks, 
and  dwelt  alone  in  the  great  house  with  barred  and  de- 
fended policies.  After  this  workmen  from  Glasgow  were 
quartered  at  Barnbogle  for  nearly  a  year.  With  them 
there  came  a  man-cook  to  prepare  their  food,  and  rough 
masons'  labourers  were  lodged  in  the  dainty,  dismantled 
bedrooms  where  last  had  dwelt  the  ladies  of  the  blonde 
allures. 

ISTow  and  then,  on  Sundays,  one  of  these  Glasgow  cal- 
lants  would  steal  out,  at  the  risk  of  discovery  and  dis- 
missal, to  see  the  Netherby  lasses.  Or,  mayhap,  an  elder 
smith  or  joiner  would  escape  to  the  public-house  of  a 
dark  evening.  But  it  was  at  the  peril  of  their  places  and 
their  excellent  wages. 

To  them  chiefly  could  be  traced  the  tales  of  mighty 
strong-rooms,  of  triple-barred  gratings,  of  wondrously  fit- 


312  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

ting  doors  with  bolts,  which  at  the  click  of  a  key  worn  on 
the  watch  chain  locked  so  firmly  that  none  could  open 
again  without  secret  passwords. 

During  this  period  General  Theophilus  Eull  had  be- 
come an  extremely  pious  person.  Every  Sunday  he  con- 
ducted service  with  his  workmen  in  person.  One  day  he 
would  read  the  prayers  and  Litany  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land, with  such  a  grace  of  intonation  and  a  dignity,  that 
it  caused  the  douce  Glasgow  Presbyterians  to  fear  that 
even  double  wages  would  hardly  make  up  to  them  for 
their  souls'  peril  in  thus  sacrificing  to  idols. 

But  by  the  succeeding  Sunday  the  General  had  dis- 
carded the  service-book,  and  he  would  lead  them  in  prayer 
with  the  fervour  and  interjectional  fervour  of  a  "  ranter  " 
— which  at  that  date  was  the  name  by  which  all  revival 
preachers  were  called. 

Every  church  in  the  neighbourhood  benefited  by  the 
benefactions  of  the  General.  And  there  was  not  a  divi- 
sion of  the  Derbyites,  Close,  Open,  or  Original,  which  did 
not  receive  a  visit  from  him,  and  which  had  not  good 
cause  to  believe  that  the  brethren  had  secured  the  richest 
convert  the  sect  had  ever  made.  But  the  General  con- 
tented himself  with  making  the  most  liberal  contribu- 
tions, and  with  listening  to  the  brothers'  mourning  for 
each  other's  backslidings,  while  at  the  same  time  rejoicing 
that  they  only  of  all  mankind  could  escape  hell-fire. 
Then  he  would  return  home,  and  the  very  next  day  pro- 
ceed to  give  another  denomination  the  benefit  of  the  doubt. 

But,  nevertheless,  while  the  fit  lasted  the  General  was 
ready  to  assist  all  and  sundry  to  erect  suitable  places  of 
worship.  His  purse  was  long  and  deep.  So  the  district 
of  Ketherby  is  distinguished  among  its  neighbours  for  the 
number  of  its  spires  and  for  the  surpassing  whiteness  of 
the  outside  of  its  cup  and  platter. 


THE  GENERAL'S  ESTABLISHMENT.  313 

The  only  stipulation  which  the  General  made,  was 
that  he  and  he  only  should  have  the  right  to  prescribe  the 
plan  of  the  building,  and  the  time  at  which  it  was  to  be 
finished.  This  is  the  reason  why  the  "Englishy"  kirk 
worships  in  a  tabernacle  erected  in  miniature  of  Mr.  Spur- 
geon's.  So  that  the  heart  of  the  incumbent  (who  left  the 
Church  of  England  (in  England)  to  secure  greater  liberty 
of  ritual)  is  daily  broken  by  the  impossibility  of  having  a 
procession  within  it,  other  than  one  briefly  semicircular ; 
and  also  by  the  fact  that  he  has  to  read  his  sermon  behind 
a  table,  only  fitted  for  holding  the  glass  of  water  and 
Bible  which  completely  equip  the  popular  tribune. 

Similarly  the  Kirk  of  Scotland  by  law  established  in 
Netherby  presents  all  the  characteristics  of  a  little  Bethel 
meeting-house.  And  a  new  minister  of  SBsthetic  tastes  has 
to  wrestle  with  the  fact,  that  there  is  no  place  in  which  to 
bestow  an  organ,  except  in  the  coal-cellar  from  which  the 
heating  apparatus  is  worked. 

But  both  the  Auld  Lichts  and  the  Baptists  are  housed 
in  haughty  fanes — not  large,  indeed,  but  built  on  the 
most  approved  cathedral  principles.  The  meeting-house 
of  the  Baptists,  indeed,  has  no  less  than  two  spires  and 
the  beginnings  of  another,  after  the  fashion  of  Lichfield. 
The  whole  front  of  the  Free  Kirk  is  a-glitter  with  quartz- 
faced  rocks.  For  during  the  time  of  its  erection  The- 
ophilus  Euff  would  arrive  each  day  with  his  pockets  full  of 
stones  with  this  shell- white  glance  upon  them.  He  even 
marked  spots  upon  the  moor,  and  sent  out  masons  to 
bring  the  pieces  which  took  his  fancy.  And  one  by  one 
these  all  found  their  way  into  the  frontage  of  the  Free 
Kirk. 

The  most  curious  point  about  all  this  building  of  re- 
ligious edifices  was,  that  Theophilus  Ruff  never  allowed 

one  of  them  to  be  finished.     When  the  last  turret  of  the 

21 


314  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE   CITY. 

spire  was  on  the  point  of  being  finished,  Theophilus  would 
dismiss  all  the  men,  order  the  unfinished  pinnacle  to  be 
covered  with  lead  to  preserve  it  from  the  weather,  and  so 
leave  the  church  with  an  ugly  hooded  hump  upon  its  back. 
Or  he  would  leave  a  rough  stone  dyke  and  a  dozen  old 
sand  pits  and  lime  heaps  lying  for  years  about  the  gate, 
just  as  they  had  been  thrown  down  at  the  time  when  the 
building  was  begun.  He  preferred  to  see  one  gate-post 
up  and  the  other  down.  He  had  been  known  to  build  a 
mill  and  fit  it  with  expensive  machinery,  to  construct  a 
mill-dam  with  the  most  approved  modern  sluices,  and  im- 
port the  most  advanced  American  "  notions  "  in  the  way 
of  farm  implements.  Then  one  fine  morning  he  would 
arrive,  and,  when  everything  was  almost  complete,  pay  the 
labourers  their  wages,  discharge  the  engineers  in  the  midst 
of  fixing  a  steam  boiler  or  laying  hot- water  pipes  for  the 
most  improved  method  of  preparing  food  for  cattle. 
Thereafter  he  would  write  their  masters  a  cheque,  and 
there  was  an  end.  I^ot  an  ounce  of  water  would  ever  run 
out  of  that  granite-embanked  mill-dam.  Not  a  wheel  of 
that  beautiful  machinery  would  ever  turn  round.  No 
horse  wearing  shoe-iron  would  ever  tread  the  asphalted 
floor  of  these  sanitary  stables.  Year  after  year  the  whole 
premises  stood  empty.  The  glass  would  early  disappear 
from  the  windows  under  a  galling  cross-fire  from  the  cata- 
pults of  all  the  boys  in  the  neighbourhood,  with  whom  it 
was  a  point  of  honour  to  break  everything  breakable  about 
the  various  "  follies  "  of  General  Theophilus  Euff.  Never 
did  houses  get  the  reputation  of  being  haunted  so  quickly 
as  those  buildings  erected  by  him  in  all  manner  of  unlikely 
places.  Even  during  the  very  week  after  the  workmen  had 
been  unceremoniously  dismissed,  and  while  the  new  gloss 
was  yet  on  the  handles  of  the  doors  and  the  shop  polish 
upon  the  machinery,  the  place  began  to  be  deserted  after 


THE  GENERAL'S  ESTABLISHMENT.  315 

dusk  by  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. 

N"ay,  more  than  this,  the  same  mysterious  blight  was 
instantly  communicated  to  any  property  acquired  by  the 
General.  For  at  this  time  it  was  his  habit  to  buy  all  that 
came  into  the  market,  without  any  discrimination  what- 
ever. He  had  been  known  to  buy  the  middle  house  of  a 
row  of  respectable  tenements,  turn  out  the  occupants,  look 
through  the  windows  one  by  one  to  see  if  they  were  all 
gone,  then  lock  the  door  and  stalk  solemnly  away  with 
the  key  in  his  pocket. 

That  very  night  the  premises  were  haunted.  The  next 
day  the  boys  began  to  break  the  windows,  from  a  safe  dis- 
tance, with  their  catapults,  frightening  each  other  the 
while  with  the  cry  that  the  General  was  coming.  In  six 
months  the  house  was  a  mere  melancholy  wreck,  in 
which  tramps  camped  at  nights,  and  (if  the  police  did 
not  occasionally  interfere)  pulled  out  the  frames  of  the 
windows  and  the  fittings  of  the  kitchen  to  burn  over 
their  fires. 

It  was  no  wonder  that  Cleg  Kelly  looked  with  much 
interest  upon  Barnbogle  House.  And  had  he  known  its 
sinister  repute,  and  the  character  of  his  new  master,  he 
might  never  have  set  foot  within  its  doors.  But  he  had 
never  heard  of  Theophilus,  as  the  General  was  familiarly 
called  by  all  the  neighbourhood  behind  his  back.  The 
minister  of  the  U.  P.  denomination  (the  only  one  in  the 
town  which  had  not  been  fostered  by  the  General's 
money)  explained  on  a  sacramental  occasion  that  The- 
ophilus meant  a  friend  of  God,  but  hastened  to  add  that 
this  might  be  taken  ironically,  and  that  even  the  devil 
sometimes  appeared  in  the  guise  of  an  angel  of  light. 

Nevertheless  it  was  at  the  time  thought  a  strange 
thing  that  the  U.  P.  cow  died  on  the  U.  P.  pasture,  soon 


316  CLEG   KELLY,  ARAB   OF  THE   CITY". 

after  the  close  of  the  service  at  which  this  explanation 
was  delivered  from  the  II.  P.  pulpit. 

This  induced  a  carefulness  of  speech  with  regard  to 
the  General  in  the  pulpits  of  other  denominations — ex- 
cept, perhaps,  when  the  ministers  had  probationers  sup- 
plying for  them.     For  probationers  never  have  any  cows. 

When  Cleg  and  he  arrived  at  the  house,  the  General 
bowed  a  moment,  with  his  back  to  his  visitor,  over  the 
handle  of  the  front  door,  whirled  a  many-lettered  combi- 
nation, clicked  a  key,  touched  a  knob,  and  lo !  the  massive 
door  swung  noiselessly  back. 

When  he  invited  Cleg  to  enter.  Cleg  put  his  foot  over 
the  threshold  as  if  he  had  been  entering  the  Calton  jail. 
But  he  had  pledged  himself,  and  could  not  in  honour 
draw  back.  Besides,  Cleg  had  in  him,  as  we  have  seen, 
the  spirit  of  the  natural  adventurer.  He  constantly  did 
things  for  the  sake  of  seeing  what  would  come  of  it,  and 
embarked  upon  perilous  adventures  only  to  see  how  the 
problem  would  work  itself  out. 

The  hall  in  which  he  found  himself  was  of  old  panelled 
oak,  with  lights  which  came  from  very  high  above.  Oak 
furniture  stood  sparsely  here  and  there.  The  only  re- 
markable things  were  a  couple  of  plain  white  tablets  let 
into  the  wall  at  either  side,  like  marble  memorials  in  a 
church. 

Through  many  passages  and  past  the  doors  of  innu- 
merable rooms  Theophilus  Kuff  led  our  young  hero.  Book- 
cases filled  with  solemn-looking  books  stood  all  along  the 
corridors^  Marble  timepieces  squatted  silently  on  the 
ledges.  White  statues  held  out  cold  glimmering  arms 
from  dusky  recesses.  Here  and  there,  on  little  round 
tables  by  oriel  windows,  large-type  family  Bibles  lay  open, 
many  of  them  having  bookmarks  inserted  here  and  there, 
some  of  discoloured  ribbon,  but  many  of  common  pink 


THE  GENERAL'S  ESTABLISHMENT.  317 

and  white  string  such  as  is  used  by  country  grocers  to  tie 
up  parcels  of  sugar. 

They  went  next  through  a  great  echoing  kitchen,  with 
all  manner  of  rusted  machinery  for  roasting  and  turning 
cobwebbing  the  walls  ;  by  the  side  of  vast  black  cooking- 
ranges,  past  a  glimmering  and  diminishing  array  of  brass 
pans  and  silver  dish-covers  upon  the  walls,  Cleg  followed 
the  General  like  his  shadow. 

"  We  shall  have  some  dinner  presently,"  said  The- 
ophilus  Ruff.  "  I  always  dine  in  the  middle  of  the  day 
ever  since  I  began  to  keep  house  for  myself." 

He  spun  another  combination  lock,  clicked  a  key,  and 
Cleg  found  himself  in  a  little  brick  addition,  plastered 
like  a  swallow's  nest  against  the  rear  wall  of  Barnbogle 
House. 

Here  were  a  little  table  of  scoured  woodwork,  and  a 
cheap  cooking-range  with  a  paraffin  stove,  which,  like  all 
its  kind,  leaked  a  little.  Upon  a  shelf  under  the  window 
were  tumbled  roughly  a  cooking-pot,  a  frying-pan,  a 
skillet,  a  brander,  two  tin  plates,  and  half-a-dozen  cheap 
knives  and  forks,  all  of  the  poorest  and  most  ordinary 
description,  and  most  of  them  dirty  in  the  extreme. 

The  General  ushered  Cleg  into  this  place  with  some 
ceremony  and  condescension,  like  a  superior  initiating  a 
new  and  untried  assistant  into  the  work  of  his  depart- 
ment. 

"  I  will  show  you  how  to  light  the  stove,"  he  said  ;  "  it 
is  an  exceedingly  convenient  invention.  I  wish  we  had 
iiad  them  in  the  army  in  my  time.  I  will  do  the  cooking 
myself  on  this  occasion,  in  order  that  you  may  see  in 
what  manner  you  may  best  assist  me  in  the  future. 

"  There  are  herring  here,"  he  said,  waving  his  hand 
to  a  barrel  which  showed  through  a  sparred  locker,  "  and 
a  ham  there  beyond.     Butter  you  v/ill  find  in  that  firkin 


318  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

on  your  left.  It  is  the  best  Danish  from  Kiel.  The 
tinned  beef  on  the  shelves  is  to  be  kept  for  emergencies. 
It  is  not  to  be  touched.  The  butter  I  import  myself,  and 
dispose  of  what  I  do  not  use  to  an  Italian  warehouseman 
in  Netherby.  I  find  that  it  takes  the  place  of  lard  also. 
Here  is  flour  for  sauces,  and  I  always  bring  home  a  four- 
pound  loaf  every  second  day,  which  I  find  to  be  amply 
sufficient.  I  propose  to  continue  the  duty,  and  shall  bring 
two  in  future.  If  there  is  anything  necessary  for  your 
health  which  you  do  not  find,  I  shall  be  happy  to  supply 
it.  I  think  I  have  a  suit  of  clothes — not  my  own,  but 
which  I  happen  to  possess.  They  can  easily  be  adapted 
for  your  use." 


ADVENTUKE  LIL 

THE  THREE   COFri:N^S   IJST  THE   STROXG-ROOM. 

While  the  General  was  explaining  all  these  things, 
he  was  at  the  same  time  deftly  handling  the  gridiron 
upon  which  he  was  cooking  the  four  red  herrings  which 
he  had  laid  out.  These,  with  bread  and  the  aforesaid 
best  specially  imported  Danish  butter,  dug  out  of  the  keg 
wdth  a  scoop,  furnished  their  simple  meal.  General  The- 
ophilus  made  tea  in  a  black  kettle,  by  the  simple  process 
of  putting  in  a  soup  ladle  filled  with  tea  and  allowing  the 
water  in  the  kettle  to  come  to  the  boil. 

"  The  tea  is  of  the  best  quality,"  he  said,  "  though  I 
am  somewhat  prodigal  of  it,  as  you  see.  But  a  man  must 
have  some  luxuries." 

Yet  all  the  time,  while  Cleg  was  partaking  of  the  her- 
rings, cutting  the  bread,  and  drinking  the  tea,  he  was  op- 
pressed by  the  dark  overwhelming   bulk   of  the  house 


THE  THREE  COFFINS  IN  THE  STRONG-ROOM.  319 

behind  him,  through  which  he  had  been  led.  He  in- 
stinctively felt  it  to  be  full  of  secrets,  of  unknown  echo- 
ing passages,  doors  that  clicked  and  sprung,  and  of  all 
untold  and  unutterable  mysteries. 

All  through  their  dinner  time  the  General  was  most 
courteously  polite,  handing  the  salt  and  helping  the  her- 
rings with  infinite  address.  And  when  Cleg  in  his  ig- 
norance or  his  awkwardness  committed  a  solecism,  the 
General  only  in  the  slightest  degree  emphasised  the  cor- 
rectness of  his  own  demeanour,  so  that  Cleg,  if  he  chose, 
might  benefit  by  the  lesson  in  deportment.  Not  that 
Cleg  needed  many,  for  had  he  not  often  taken  tea  with 
Miss  Celie  Tennant,  which  in  itself  was  a  charmingly 
liberal  education  ? 

When  the  meal  was  finished,  Theophilus  Kuff  took 
Cleg  into  a  little  room  adjoining.  Here  there  was  a  fixed 
wash-tub  and  a  tiny  boiler. 

"  I  do  my  own  washing,  you  see.  Cleanliness  is  most 
important ! "  the  General  explained.  "  I  learned  the  art 
while  campaigning  in  Afghanistan.  For  the  present, 
therefore,  I  shall  continue  to  do  the  washing,  though  I 
shall  be  glad  of  your  assistance  in  the  matter  of  drying 
and  ironing ! " 

Cleg  could  hardly  credit  his  ears — a  General  and  the 
owner  of  all  this  wealth,  talking  freely  of  doing  his  own 
washing.  Cleg  looked  at  the  beautiful  linen  sheets  on 
the  bed  and  marvelled  still  more.  Then  he  remembered 
what  Theophilus  had  said  about  the  presence  of  women. 

"  This  is  your  bedroom,"  said  the  General,  opening  a 
still  smaller  room,  which  contained  nothing  but  a  wash- 
stand  and  a  small  "  scissors "  camp-bed.  Upon  a  nail 
behind  the  doors  hung  a  couple  of  suits  of  clothes. 

"  These  are  yours,"  explained  the  General ;  "  this  room 
is  also  yours.     I  shall  not  again  enter  it.     I  beg  of  you, 


320  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

therefore,  that  when  you  have  been  visiting  your  friend 
the  widow  you  will  wear  one  of  these  suits,  either  as  it 
pleases  you.  But  when  you  come  into  the  rooms  which  I 
share  with  you,  or  undertake  any  of  the  duties  connected 
with  your  position,  you  will  take  the  trouble  to  change 
into  the  other." 

Cleg  touched  tlie  nearer  suit  of  clothes  gently  with 
his  hand.  It  was  of  fine  texture,  though  of  a  fashion 
somewhat  antique,  with  wide  lapels  to  the  coat  and  the 
vest  very  long.     The  General  opened  a  drawer. 

"Here,"  he  said,  "you  will  find  collars,  shirts,  and 
stockings  which,  though  a  little  large  for  you,  are  such  as 
you  will  rapidly  grow  into.  Consider  them  as  your  own. 
Assure  yourself  completely  that  the  owner  of  these  has  no 
further  need  for  them." 

Cleg  thanked  his  benefactor  frankly,  but  without  sub- 
'  servience  or  profusion. 

"  ]N"ow,"  said  the  General,  turning  rapidly  upon  Cleg, 
"  I  should  like  to  come  to  financial  terms  with  you.  I  am 
willing  to  give  you  one  pound  sterling  or  twenty  shillings 
a  week  and  your  food.  At  the  present  rate  of  the  rupee  in 
India,  from  w^hich  much  of  my  income  is  derived,  I  am 
not  desirous  of  making  it  more.  But  in  the  event  of  any 
decided  appreciation  in  the  price  of  silver,  I  should  be 
willing  to  consider  your  claims  to  a  supplement." 

"It's  far  ower  muckle  as  it  is,"  cried  honest  Cleg. 
"  Man,  I  wad  be  glad  o'  the  half  o't ! " 

The  General  waved  his  hand. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  said,  "  you  are  as  yet  unaware  of 
the  intensely  peculiar  services  which  your  position  here 
will  require  of  you.  You  may  have  to  see  strange  things 
sometimes,  and  to  learn  to  say  nothing.  I  desire,  there- 
fore, to  remunerate  you  suitably  in  advance.  What  I  shall 
reveal  to  you  is  perfectly  harmless,  as  I  shall  show  you. 


Along  gloomy  passages. 


THE  THREE  COFFINS  IN  THE  STRONG-ROOM.  321 

But  still  I  am  aware  that  there  is  a  not  unnatural  preju- 
dice against  such  experiences,  especially  among  the  young. 
We  will  call  it,  therefore,  for  the  present  a  pound  a  week." 

Cleg  nodded.  He  was  willing  to  sleep  in  a  vault 
amongst  skulls  and  crossbones,  with  a  reliable  up- to-time 
ghost  thrown  in,  for  a  pound  a  week. 

"  I  will  now  show  you  my  own  bedroom,"  he  said. 

The  General  opened  the  locks  of  the  doors  leading 
into  the  house  with  the  same  precise  caution,  and  with 
some  additional  secrecy  as  well.  But  even  in  this  the 
General  behaved  with  a  gentlemanly  reticence. 

"  You  will  observe,"  he  said,  "  that  I  do  not  for  the 
present  make  you  free  of  the  passwords  of  the  fortress. 
That  in  time  will  doubtless  come ;  but  in  the  meantime 
you  will  consider  me  as  the  governor  of  the  castle,  with 
discipline  to  maintain  and  my  own  secrets  to  keep. 

"  Your  nerves  are  strong,  I  trust  ?  "  he  added,  as  they 
passed  along  gloomy  passages  through  which  the  winds 
blew  gustily  as  in  some  cave  of  the  winds. 

"  I'm  no  feared,  gin  that's  what  ye  mean.  I  dinna  ken 
aught  aboot  nerves,"  said  Cleg. 

The  General  led  him  sideways  down  a  flight  of  steps 
like  one  that  goes  stealthily  into  a  cellar. 

They  stopped  before  a  door  of  massive  iron  painted  red 
as  a  ship  is  before  she  is  launched,  and  with  the  boltheads 
neatly  picked  out  in  white. 

"  You  observe,"  said  the  General,  "  this  door  is  entirely 
of  my  own  construction — aided,  that  is,  by  the  most  skilled 
smiths  and  mechanicians.  You  notice  that  the  rock  upon 
which  the  house  is  built  is  above  our  heads,  and  also  that 
the  door  is  really  excavated  in  the  stone  itself.  The  iron 
frame  upon  which  the  door  closes  is  mortised  so  deeply 
and  completely  into  the  solid  rock  all  round,  that  to  all 
intents  and  purposes  it  is  practically  one  piece  with  it." 


322  CLEa  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

The  General  pointed  upwards  to  where  a  pale  yellow 
gleam  on  the  wall  showed  through  a  range  of  open  and 
glassless  but  triply  barred  windows. 

"  That,"  he  said,  "  is  Cheiranthus  Cheiri,  the  common, 
yellow,  or  wild  wallflower — of  a  different  species  from  that 
of  the  garden  and,  in  my  opinion,  a  much  finer  plant.  It 
is  growing  up  there  on  the  natural  rock.  So  that  I  sleep, 
as  sayeth  the  Scripture,  '  within  the  living  stone ' ! " 

Cleg  looked  at  the  General.  His  eyes  seemed  to  grow 
darker,  his  figure  became  more  erect.  He  continued  every 
few  minutes  to  refer  to  his  watch. 

"  This  lock,"  he  said,  patting  the  keyhole,  "  is  a  highly 
ingenious  union  of  a  time-lock  and  the  commoner  letter 
combination  lock.  This  morning  I  set  the  wards  to  open 
at  two  in  the  afternoon.  So  that  it  is  now  almost  the 
time  w^hen  we  shall  be  able  by  the  application  of  the  key- 
word to  open  the  door." 

He  waited  till  the  hands  of  the  watch  w^ere  opposite 
the  hour. 

"  'Now  ! "  he  said,  and  stepped  forward  with  some  show 
of  eagerness. 

The  son  of  the  burglar  looked  on  with  an  interest 
which  was  almost  painful. 

The  General  twirled  the  lock  till  he  had  brought  five 
letters  into  line  upon  the  dial.  Then  he  inserted  a  little 
key  which  hung  at  his  watch-chain.  The  massive  red 
iron  door,  with  its  white-studded  nails,  swung  back  softly 
of  its  own  accord. 

"  A  simple  application  of  the  principle  of  the  water 
balance,"  he  said,  "  thus — I  open  the  lock,  the  water  runs 
out  and  the  door  opens.  In  another  ^Ye  minutes  the 
small  cistern  will  fill  of  its  ow^n  accord,  and  its  weight 
will  automatically  close  the  door." 

Cleg  hung  back.     He  w^as  not  afraid,  as  he  had  said. 


THE  THREE  COFFINS  IN  THE  STRONG-ROOM.  323 

But  it  seemed  an  uncanny  place  to  be  shut  up  in  with 
only  a  madman  for  company.  For  Cleg  had  no  doubt 
whatever  that  the  General  was  out  of  his  mind. 

General  Theophilus  Kuff  noticed  his  hesitancy. 

"Do  not  be  afraid.  I  have  the  combinations  all  in  the 
inside  of  my  watch  scales,  so  that  even  if  I  were  suddenly 
to  die  here,  you  would  still  be  able  to  make  your  way  out." 

The  two  stepped  within,  Cleg  being  ashamed  to  show 
any  further  feelings  of  reluctance  to  trust  his  benefactor. 

The  General  touched  a  match  to  a  large  lamp  which 
stood  on  a  pedestal.  The  whole  room,  which  had  been 
pitchy  dark  a  moment  before,  seemed  now  fairly  bursting 
with  light. 

"  My  bedroom ! "  said  the  General,  circling  the  place 
with  his  hand,  with  the  air  of  one  who  makes  an  impor- 
tant introduction. 

The  walls  were  of  red-painted  iron  throughout,  the  red 
of  farm  carts  in  the  district,  and  the  bolts  were  again 
picked  out  with  white.  But  the  furniture  was  the  strange 
thing.  There  was  nothing  whatever  in  the  room  save 
three  coffins,  each  arranged  squarely  upon  its  own  table. 

The  lids  of  the  two  at  either  side  were  hinged  and 
closed.  The  centre  one  stood  open.  The  coffins  were 
not  large  or  fine  ones,  but,  on  the  contrary,  common  and 
covered  with  black  cloth.  The  lid  of  the  centre  one  was 
off,  and  stood  leaning  against  the  wall  at  the  coffin  head. 
Cleg  could  easily  read  the  inscription,  which  was  in  white 
letters  upon  a  black  painted  plate  : — 

MAJOE-GENEKAL  THEOPHILUS  KUFF, 

E.l.C.  BENGAL  AEMY. 

BORN   JULY   21sT,  18—. 

DECEIVED  JULY   21st,  18—. 

UNDECEIVED   JULY   2l8T,  18—. 

DIED   JULY   21sT,  18-. 


324  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  It  is  not  long  now,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  latter 
date.     "  I  have  not  added  the  year,  you  observe.     But  it 
was  revealed  that  all  my  days  of  fate  should  culminate  on 
the  21st  of  July.     And  so  hitherto  they  have.     1  do  Lv 
think  I  shall  see  more  than  other  four." 

Then  a  new  thought  seemed  to  strike  him.  He  turned 
to  Cleg  Kelly  sharply. 

"  Note  the  lettering  on  the  coffins,"  he  said  ;  "  I  did  it 
all  with  an  ordinary  sharpened  knitting  needle.  I  bought 
a  plain  black  tin  plate  from  the  carpenter  of  the  village, 
and  he  showed  me  how  the  paint  scrapes  off.  It  is  quite 
easy.  But  I  have  done  it  much  more  neatly  than  could 
the  carpenter  himself.  I  have  since  attended  quite  a 
number  of  male  funerals  in  order  to  observe  the  quality 
of  the  lettering  upon  the  coffin.  I  do  assure  you  it  is,  in 
general,  disgracefully  slipshod.  The  man  does  not  ap- 
pear to  take  the  least  pains  to  improve.  I  have  even 
thought  of  offering  to  do  the  job  for  him." 

Cleg  was  continuing  to  look  about  him,  when  a  sudden 
noise  behind  him  caused  him  to  leap  to  the  side.  The 
great  red  iron  door  had  swung  to  with  a  little  well-oiled 
click. 

The  General  smiled  indulgently  and  reassuringly. 

"  It  is  only  the  water  balance  I  told  you  of.  It  is  now 
full;  the  little  wet-bob  rises  to  the  top,  and  the  door 
swings  to  of  its  own  accord." 

Cleg  continued  to  look  about  him.  The  room  was 
about  thirty  feet  square  and  half  as  high.  But  there  was 
no  bedstead  or  any  other  furniture  to  be  seen. 

The  General  noticed  his  perplexity. 

"I  observe,"  he  said,  smiling,  "that  you  are  looking 
for  my  bed.  Here  it  is,"  laying  his  hand  on  the  central 
coffin.  "  Oblige  me  with  your  hand.  I  usually  depend 
upon  a  stick,  but  your  shoulder  is  better." 


THE  THREE  COFFINS  IN  THE  STRONG-ROOM.  325 

The  General  balanced  himself  for  a  moment  upon  the 
edge  of  the  coffin,  and  let  his  head  drop  back  upon  the 
little  white  pad.  Then  he  arranged  his  shoulders  into  the 
fiddle-shaped  swell,  and  deftly  drew  in  his  feet  after  him. 

"  Xow,"  he  said,  "  damp  the  herbs  in  that  pipe.  Light 
a  ribbon  of  the  prepared  paper  at  the  lamp,  and  put  it  in 
the  bowl  to  smoulder." 

Cleg  hastened  to  obey.  It  was  a  large-headed  East 
Indian  pipe  with  a  flexible  handle,  and  mouthpiece  of  fine 
pale  amber. 

"You  observe,"  said  the  General,  as  he  calmly  and 
carefully  adjusted  his  pipe-stem  over  the  edge  of  the 
coffin,  "  I  do  not  use  ordinary  tobacco,  but  a  mixture  of 
Indian  hemp  and  Datura  stramonium^  or  thornapple,  a 
common  dunghill  plant.  With  ordinary  people  the  smok- 
ing of  these  would  produce  madness ;  but  in  my  case 
they  produce  only  a  peculiar  exaltation,  and  then  a  kind 
of  ethereal  coma,  without  at  all  being  followed  by  the 
evil  effects  of  opium." 

He  beckoned  Cleg  to  come  nearer.  Cleg  did  so,  and 
took  up  his  position  at  the  foot  of  the  coffin  with  some 
reluctance. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  I  am  about  to  take  my  siesta.  Do 
you  set  the  time  arrangement  by  carefully  turning  the 
hands  of  the  small  clock  to  seven — the  lower  dial,  if  you 
please.  Thank  you.  Now  bring  the  letters  of  the  word 
PALSE  to  the  face  of  the  lock  attachment,  and  you  will 
be  able  to  open  it  by  the  use  of  this  duplicate  key.  The 
same  word  will  (for  this  day  only)  enable  you  to  open  the 
outer  door — from  the  inside,  that  is,  not  again  from  the 
outside.  The  pass-word  is  changed  every  day.  I  always 
write  it  on  a  paper  inside  my  watch  every  morning." 

As  Cleg  was  leaving  the  room  the  face  and  neck  of  the 
General  were  suddenly  jerked  up,  so  that  he  rose  almost 


326  CLEG   KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

to  a  sitting  position.  Cleg's  muscles  twitched,  and  with 
a  sharp  cry  he  leaped  into  the  air. 

The  General  waved  the  hand  which  was  not  employed 
in  managing  the  pipe-stem,  upon  which  his  eyes  were 
steadily  fixed. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  most  heartily,"  he  said,  "  I  should 
have  warned  you  of  this.  The  fact  is,  I  have  an  auto- 
matic attachment,  which  I  have  applied  beneath  the  pil- 
low, by  which  at  certain  intervals  my  head  is  raised.  For, 
though  so  remarkably  spare  of  person,  I  have  several 
times  in  the  East  been  threatened  with  apoplexy;  and, 
indeed,  I  suffer  constantly  from  asthma,  for  which  I  find 
the  Datura  stramonium  most  useful." 

And  as  Cleg  whirled  the  combination  circles  in  imita- 
tion of  the  General,  he  prayed  that  he  might  never  again 
have  to  enter  that  ghastly  chamber.  Yet  it  was  his  for- 
tune to  abide  with  the  General  four  years  as  his  body 
servant,  and  to  enter  the  strong-room  of  Barnbogle  nearly 
every  day. 


ADVENTUEE  LIII. 

A   STORMY   MOR]Sri:N'G   AT   LOCH   SPELLAKDERIE. 

It  had  been  a  stormy  morning  at  Loch  Spellanderie. 
It  was  not  wholly  that  the  winds  howled  gustily  up  the 
loch,  or  that  the  tiny  breakers  lashed  the  shore  in  mimic 
fury.  Mistress  McWalter  had  ofttimes  been  a  deceived 
woman,  but  never  before  had  she  taken  to  her  bosom  so 
complete  a  viper  as  Vara  Kavannah.  She  had,  indeed, 
been  telling  her  so  for  well-nigh  four  years.  Even  Kit 
Kennedy  had  become  for  once  almost  an  angel  of  light 
when  compared  with  her.     The  reason  of  the  sudden  riot 


A  STORMY  MORNING  AT   LOCH  SPELLANDERIE.  327 

was  that  Cleg  Kelly  had  been  discovered  talking  to  Vara 
by  the  orchard  dyke  the  night  before. 

"Ye  brazen-faced  besom — ye  toon's  madam,"  cried 
Mrs.  McWalter,  "  I'll  learn  you  to  bring  your  ragged,  un- 
kempt, stravagin'  followers  here  ! — Guidman,  gin  ye  were 
worth  your  salt,  as  ye  are  not,  ye  wad  tak'  speech  in  hand, 
and  order  sic  a  randy  instantly  frae  'boot  the  hoose ! " 

It  was  early  in  the  morning.  Mrs.  McWalter  was  still 
in  bed,  and  her  husband  was  pretending  to  be  asleep. 
But  she  was  well  acquainted  with  his  guile. 

"  Ye  needna  j)i'etend  ye  are  sleepin',  John,  for  brawly 
do  I  ken  that  ye  hear  every  word." 

Vara,  grown  by  this  time  into  a  tall,  handsome  girl, 
was  already  brushing  out  the  kitchen  and  lighting  the 
fire.  Kit  Kennedy  was  whistling  cheerfully  about  the 
stable.  Mistress  McWalter  always  assisted  at  reveille  in 
the  house  of  Loch  Spellanderie.  Her  voice  was  so  sharp 
and  shrill  that  it  could  easily  reach  every  corner  of  the 
house  from  her  bed.  And  upon  occasion,  when  she  felt 
that  she  was  generally  doing  herself  justice,  it  had  been 
known  to  sweep  the  cart-shed,  and  even  beat  upon  the 
walls  of  the  barn  with  considerable  effect.  But  that  was, 
of  course,  when  the  front  door  of  the  dwelling-house  was 
open. 

While  thus  lying  comfortably  upon  her  back.  Mistress 
McWalter  could  keep  up  a  steady  and  destructive  criti- 
cism of  life  in  a  high-pitched  falsetto,  as  it  was  represented 
below  in  the  sweeps  of  Vara's  brush  and  the  patter  of  Kit 
Kennedy's  clogs  upon  the  stone  floor. 

"  What  are  ye  doin'  near  the  dresser,  ye  sly,  ill-con- 
trivin'  limmer,"  she  cried ;  "  hae  I  no  telled  ye  a  thou- 
sand times,  that  if  I  catch  ye  takkin'  as  muckle  as  a  sup 
o'  the  milk  that  was  skimmed  yestreen  for  the  bairns' 
breakfast  this  mornin',  I  will  hae  the  polissman  at  ye? 


328  CLEG  KELLY,  AIlxiB  OP  THE  CITY. 

But  the  jail  wad  be  no  surprise  to  the  likes  o'  you.  Na, 
I'm  guessin'  ye  hae  been  weel  acquant  wi'  the  poliss  a' 
your  days.  Tak'  up  the  water-cans  and  gang  your  ways 
to  the  well  for  water.  Then  haste  ye  fast  back  and  put  on 
the  muckle  pot  and  the  porridge  pot,  baith  o'  them.  Or, 
my  certes,  I'll  come  at  ye  wi'  a  stick,  ye  careless,  trapesin' 
slut,  ye!" 

Vara  was  not  slow  in  obeying  this  command.  To  go 
to  the  well  meant,  at  the  least,  to  be  for  five  minutes  out 
of  the  hearing  of  the  all-compassing  tongue  of  Mistress 
Mc Walter,  and  out  of  the  shrill  ding-dong  of  her  vocabu- 
lary.    It  was  not  much,  but  still  it  was  something. 

The  girl  took  the  blue  cans  readily,  and  went  towards 
the  door. 

"  Gang  some  deal  quaiter,"  cried  Mistress  McWalter, 
"  or,  by  my  faith,  I'll  thresh  ye  like  a  sheaf  o'  corn  when 
I  rise  to  ye,  ye  misleared  gamester  frae  the  streets ! 
Dinna  wauken  a'  the  puir  tired  bairns,  for  they  were  hon- 
estly gotten  and  weel  brocht  up.  And  shut  the  door  after 
ye,  when  ye  gang  oot.  Ye  want  us  a'  to  get  our  deaths  o' 
cauld,  nae  doot ! " 

The  anger  that  burned  in  Yara's  breast  was  healthy 
and  natural,  and  it  would  have  done  her  a  world  of  good 
if  she  had  been  able  to  allow  herself  the  safety  valve  of 
intemperate  speech.  But  she  only  said  to  herself,  "  I'll 
thole  awhile  yet  for  Boy  Hugh's  and  wee  Gavin'  sake,  till 
they  can  fend  for  themselves.  I  need  the  siller  she  pays 
me." 

Kit  Kennedy  met  Yara  as  she  crossed  the  yard,  l^ow 
in  order  to  reach  the  well  it  was  necessary  to  go  through 
the  gate  at  the  far  angle  of  the  yard,  and  to  walk  some 
distance  along  the  grassy  road  which  led  to  the  next  farm. 
The  gusts  blew  off  the  lake  and  twirled  Yara's  hair  becom- 
ingly about  her  face.     She  was  certainly  growing  a  tall, 


A  STORMY  MORNING  AT  LOCH  SPELL ANDERIE.  329 

shapely,  personable  lass.  And  so  thought  Kit  Kennedy, 
and  said  so  with  his  eyes. 

Kit  was  also  tall  and  strong.  There  was  nothing 
rustic  about  his  appearance.  He  had  the  profile  and 
pose  of  head  of  the  young  Apollo  of  the  Bow.  He  did 
not,  indeed,  possess  the  sinewy,  gypsy  alertness  of  Cleg 
Kelly,  nor  yet  the  devil's  grit,  turned,  on  the  whole,  to 
good  intents,  which  drove  that  youth  safely  through  so 
many  adventures.  Kit  Kennedy  was  slower,  more  thought- 
ful, more  meditative.  Cleg  never  by  any  chance  wasted  a 
moment  in  meditation,  so  long  as  there  was  a  chance  to 
do  anything.  And  when  he  did,  it  was  only  that  he 
might  again  dash  the  more  determinedly  and  certainly  into 
the  arena  of  action. 

But  Kit  Kennedy  could  call  friends  out  of  the  vision- 
ary air  to  sit  with  him  in  "  sessions  of  sweet  silent  thought." 
Often  he  walked  day  after  day  in  a  world  all  his  own. 
And  the  most  stinging  words  of  Mistress  McWalter  did 
not  affect  him  one  whit  more  than  the  gusts  of  wind-born 
rain  which  dashed  at  him  across  the  lake. 

In  the  same  circumstances.  Cleg  would  simply  have 
smitten  Mistress  McWalter  with  a  stone,  or,  if  more  con- 
venient, with  a  poker,  and  so  departed  well  content.  But 
Kit  Kennedy  forbore,  and  made  nothing  of  her  persecu- 
tion. He  could  dodge  her  blows  by  watching  her  hand. 
And  he  could  go  on  calmly  rehearsing  the  adventures  of 
Sir  Aylmer  de  Vallance,  while  the  abuse  of  his  aunt  pro- 
vided a  ready-made  background  of  storm  and  fret,  which 
gave  a  delicious  relish  to  a  victorious  single  combat  in 
Kit's  imagination. 

When  Kit  met  Vara  on  the  well  road  he  took  the  cans 
naturally  out  of  her  hands,  as  if  he  had  been  well  accus- 
tomed to  doing  it.     He  had  been  waiting  for  her.     In  his 

heart  he  always  called  her  his  lady  Gloriana,  and  it  was 
22 


330  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB   OP  THE  CITY. 

only  with  difficulty  that  he  could  remember  to  call  her 
Vara.  Kit  had  been  much  happier  during  the  years  since 
Vara  came.  He  had  now  a  heroine  for  his  romances,  as 
well  as  a  companion  for  his  hours  of  ease.  For  Kit  went 
about  acting  another  life  all  day  long.  He  fed  the  bul- 
locks to  the  clatter  of  cavalry  hoofs.  He  shepherded  the 
sheep  towards  pastures  new,  to  the  blast  of  trumpet  and 
the  beat  of  drum.  Or,  as  a  great  general,  he  stood  gloom- 
ily apart  upon  a  knoll,  with  his  staff  around  him,  and  sent 
a  barking  aide-de-camp  here  and  another  there,  to  direct 
the  woolly  battalions  how  to  make  their  attack  upon  the 
bridge.  He  always  thrust  one  hand  into  his  breast,  in 
order  to  represent  the  correct  attitude  of  a  great  general 
on  such  occasions.  He  was  compelled  to  unloose  the 
third  button  of  his  waistcoat  in  order  to  do  it.  This 
seemed  strange.  He  had  never  read  that  this  was  neces- 
sary. He  wondered  what  heroes  did  in  that  case.  But  it 
struck  him  afterwards  that  very  likely  they  had  their 
waistcoats  made  open  on  purpose. 

Again,  in  his  books  of  chivalry  there  was  always  a  lady 
to  be  the  guiding  star  of  every  life  of  adventure.  Each 
knight,  if  he  was  of  any  respectability  at  all,  provided 
himself  at  least  with  one.  The  great  Don  Quixote  had 
done  that.  For  the  Knight  Dolorous  was,  in  the  opinion 
of  Kit  Kennedy,  as  indeed  in  that  of  all  fair-minded 
people,  a  most  high-minded  and  ill-used  man. 

Kit  had  tried  in  various  directions  to  find  a  lady  of  his 
vows  before  Vara  came.  For  lack  of  better,  he  had  even 
tried  to  imagine  his  aunt  as  a  divinity,  beautiful  and 
cruel.  But  something  was  always  happening  to  destroy 
this  illusion.  Nothing  is  more  hurtful  to  exalted  senti- 
ment than  a  box  on  the  ear,  administered  ^  unexpectedly. 
So,  after  a  fair  trial.  Kit  was  compelled  definitely  to  give 
his  aunt  up,  as  a  possible  queen  of  love  and  courtesy.     It 


/ 


A   STORMY  MORNING  AT  LOCH  SPELLANDERIE.  331 

could  not  be  done,  even  with  all  Kit's  very  generous  good- 
will. So,  instead,  he  called  her  the  False  Duessa,  the 
black  hag  Sycorax,  and  especially  and  generally  Beelze- 
bubba,  for  the  last  name  pleased  him  greatly.  And  when- 
ever she  mocked  him  with  her  bitter  tongue,  Kit  hugged 
himself,  saying,  "  Ah !  if  only  I  were  to  call  her  Beelze- 
bubba!  Little  knows  she  that  in  the  history  of  my 
mighty  and  knightly  deeds,  she  is  condemned  to  go  down 
to  posterity  yet  unborn  under  the  name  of  the  Loathly 
Beelzebubba ! " 

So  Kit  carried  the  Lady  Gloriana's  silver  vessels  to  the 
fountain  of  the  Elixir  of  Life,  swinging  them  lightly  and 
talking  briskly  all  the  way. 

Vara  looked  often  at  Kit,  with  his  free  breezy  ways 
and  erect  carriage.  Indeed,  she  looked  so  often,  that  if 
Cleg  had  been  within  sight  there  would  certainly  have 
been  another  fight. 

But  Vara  was  constantly  mindful  of  Cleg.  She  prayed 
for  him  night  and  morning.  She  remembered  all  his 
goodness,  and  she  wished  that  he  could  oftener  come  to 
see  her.  But  in  the  meantime  it  was  undoubtedly  pleas- 
ant to  have  some  one  at  hand,  so  ready  to  help  with  sym- 
pathy for  herself  and  abuse  of  the  enemy  as  Kit  Kennedy. 

The  lad  and  the  girl  stood  awhile  at  the  well,  leaning 
elbows  upon  the  dyke,  while  Vara  confided  to  Kit  all  the 
morning  enormities  of  Mistress  McWalter,  and  Kit  bade 
her  be  of  good  cheer,  for  there  was  a  good  time  coming 
for  them  both.  And  also,  doubtless,  a  very  bad  time  for 
Beelzebubba.     It  always  was  so  in  the  story  books. 

"  How  splendid,"  said  Kit,  "  if  the  devil  were  just  to 
come  for  her  as  he  did  for  poor  Faust !  He  will  some  day, 
you  may  depend.  Beelzebubba  would  be  coming  after  me 
with  a  stick.  She  would  run  on  and  on,  getting  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  barn  end.     I  would  show  the  devil  ex- 


332  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

actly  where  to  wait  for  her.  Then  I  should  put  my  hat 
on  a  stick  and  she  would  come,  crawling,  crawling  slowly 
— to  get  a  whack  at  me.  By-and-bye  she  would  get  to 
the  corner,  and  then— pouch!  the  devil  would  jump  at 
her  and  catch  her,  the  earth  fly  open,  and  nothing  be  left 
of  Beelzebubba  but  a  smell  of  sulphur,  as  there  is  after  a 
bee-killiag." 

The  vision  was  monstrously  comfortable  as  Kit  painted 
it     But  Vara  did  not  laugh. 

"  I  think  it's  wicked  to  speak  that  gate,"  she  said. 

"  What  ?  "  said  Kit,  hardly  able  to  believe  his  ears, 
yet  scenting  a  new  and  unsuspected  perfection  in  his 
lady  Gloriana ;  "  it  is  only  my  aunt.  It  is  Beelze- 
bubba." 

Vara  shook  her  head.  She  could  not  give  reasons,  but 
she  did  not  think  such  talk  could  be  right  even  to  im- 
agine. 

"  She  is  no  that  ill  after  a',  if  you  consider  that  she 
keeps  us,"  she  said. 

Kit  did  not  know  that  Vara  had  known  intimately  a 
far  worse  woman  than  Mistress  McWalter. 

At  the  door  Kit  gave  the  cans  of  water  to  Vara,  brim- 
ming full  as  he  had  carried  them,  but  silently,  lest  his 
aunt  should  hear  from  her  bed  above.  He  touched  Vara's 
hand  lightly  for  reward.  For  he  was  a  boy  as  full  of  senti- 
ment as  his  books  were  primed  with  it.  He  had  brought 
a  dozen  of  his  father's  volumes  with  him,  and  though 
his  aunt  daily  prophesied  their  destruction  by  fire.  Kit 
thought  that  she  knew  better  than  to  do  that. 

But,  while  Vara  had  been  gone  to  the  well  for  the 
water,  momentous  things  had  been  happening  in  the  pri- 
vacy of  the  chamber  shared  by  Mistress  McWalter  and  her 
husband.  The  worm  had  turned.  But,  alas  !  even  when 
worms  turn,  they  do  not  gain  much  by  it.    Except  that 


A  STORMY  MORNING  AT  LOCH  SPELLANDERIE.  333 

perhaps  they  may  assist  the  early  bird  to  wriggle  down  its 
breakfast  a  little  more  easily. 

Mistress  McWalter  had  gone  storming  along  her  devi- 
ous way  of  abuse  after  Vara's  departure. 

"  I  wish  ye  wad  let  that  lassie  alane  ! "  suddenly  broke 
in  John  McWalter,  awaking  out  of  his  deep  silence  at  the 
thirtieth  repetition  of  the  phrase  "impident  madam  of 
the  street."  "  The  lassie's  weel  eneuch,  so  far  as  I  see,  gin 
ye  wad  only  let  her  alane  !  " 

For  a  long  minute  Mistress  McWalter  lay  petrified  with 
astonishment.  The  like  of  this  had  not  happened  since 
six  months  after  their  marriage.  But  the  checked  tide  of 
her  speech  was  not  long  in  overflowing  the  barrier  like  a 
bursting  flood. 

"  Is't  come  to  this  between  you  an'  me,  John  McWal- 
ter— that  I  may  rise  and  pack,  and  tak'  awa  me  and 
my  bairns,  puir  harmless  bits  o'  things  ?  For  it  comes  to 
that !  After  a'  my  thirty  years  aboot  the  hoose  o'  Loch 
Spellanderie,  that  ye  should  tak'  the  pairt  0'  a  reckless 
randy  gang-the-road  trollop,  against  your  ain  married 
wife !  Have  I  watched  and  tended  ye  for  this,  when  ye 
had  the  trouble  in  your  inside,  and  could  get  rest  neither 
day  nor  nicht,  you  wantin'  aye  mustard  plaisters?  Is  it 
to  be  lichtlied  for  a  lichtfit  rantipole  limmer  that  I  hae 
fed  ye  and  clad  ye — aye,  and  tended  your  bairns,  washing 
them  back  and  front  ilka  Saturday  nicht  wi'  a  bit  o'  flan- 
nel and  guid  yellow  soap,  forby  drying  them  after  that  wi' 
a  rough  towel  ?  And  noo,  since  I  am  to  hae  a  besom  like 
this  preferred  before  me — I'll  rise  and  be  gaun.  I'll  bide 
nae  mair  aboot  this  hoose.  Guid  be  thanked  there's  them 
in  the  warld  that  thinks  mair  o'  me  than  John  McWalter, 
my  ain  marriet  man  !  " 

"  Aye,  juist  na,"  said  John  McWalter,  roused  at  last. 
*'  E'en  gang  your  ways,  Mistress,  if  ye  can  make  a  better 


334:  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

o't.  Ye're  braw  and  welcome  to  trampit  as  far  as  this 
hoose  is  concerned.  I'm  thinkin'  that  your  new  freends 
will  be  brave  and  sune  tired  o'  ye  ! " 

Mistress  McWalter  bounced  out  of  bed  and  began  hur- 
riedly to  gather  her  apparel,  as  though  she  meditated 
leaving  the  house  just  as  she  was.  She  would  have  given 
a  considerable  sum  of  money  if  at  that  moment  she  could 
have  wept  real  wet  tears.  However,  she  did  her  best  with 
a  dry  towel. 

"To  think,"  sobbed  she, bouncing  from  chair  to  chair, 
"  that  ye  prefer  a  wandering  gypsy's  brat  o'  a  hizzie  to 
me !  0  what  for  did  I  ever  leave  my  mither,  and  the 
bonny  hoose  o'  Knockshin  where  I  was  so  muckle  thocht 
on  ?  Waes  me,  for  I  am  but  a  puir,  heart-broken,  deceivit 
woman  ! " 


At  this  very  moment  Vara  came  in  bearing  her  cans, 
with  a  lightened  heart  after  her  journey  to  the  well  with 
Kit  Kennedy.  With  a  louder  voice  and  more  abounding 
thankfulness,  Mistress  McWalter  took  up  the  burden  of 
her  tale. 

"Aye,  here  comes  your  base  limmer.  Ye  had  better 
be  awa  doon  to  her,  John  McWalter,"  cried  the  Mistress 
of  Loch  Spellanderie,  "  or  she  may  tak'  the  country  again, 
after  the  thief-like  loon  wha  cam'  seekin'  her  on  Monday 
nicht,  nae  farther  gane." 

Then  Mistress  McWalter  went  down  stairs  and  opened 
more  direct  fire.  It  was  certainly  a  stormy  day  at  Loch 
Spellanderie,  little  doubt  was  there  of  that.  For  the 
winds  roared  about  the  farm  on  the  hill  above  the  water. 
And  within  Mistress  McWalter's  tongue  thundered  like 
great  guns  in  a  naval  engagement.  Vara  went  about  her 
work  with  the  tear  on  her  pale  cheek  all  that  day,  and  a 
wonder  in  her  heart  what  she  had  done  to  deserve  such 
cruelty. 


KIT  KENNEDY'S  FAREWELL.  335 

ADVENTURE  LIV. 
KIT  Kennedy's  faeewell. 

It  was  about  half -past  four  in  the  afternoon  that  Vara 
was  coming  round  the  corner  of  the  barn  carrying  an  arm- 
ful of  hay.  She  was  undisguisedly  sobbing  now.  For 
though  she  did  not  cry  in  the  house  where  Mistress 
McWalter  could  see  her,  it  was  too  much  for  her  to  re- 
strain herself  when  she  was  alone  out  of  doors. 

John  McWalter  met  her  and  stopped,  with  his  usual 
elaborate  pretence  of  being  in  a  hurry  and  not  haying  a 
moment  to  spare.  He  had  really  been  doing  nothing  all 
the  afternoon  but  looking  for  a  chance  of  speaking  to 
her. 

"  Vara,  dinna  greet,  my  lassie,"  he  said,  "  ye  maunna 
heed  the  mistress'  tongue.  We  a'  get  oor  share  o't !  Can 
ye  no  bide  for  a  day  or  twa  what  I  hae  ta'en  to  bed  wi'  me 
every  nicht  for  thirty  year  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Vara, "  I  am  gaun  awa'  the  nicht." 

"  Where  are  ye  gaun,  my  lassie  ?  "  asked  John  McWal- 
ter kindly. 

"To  see  Hugh  and  Gavin,  my  twa  wee  brithers  at 
Sandyknowes,"  said  Vara,  "  and  maybe  I'll  be  some  use 
there.  An'  if  not,  we  will  just  hae  to  gang  farther  on, 
and  look  for  my  faither  again." 

"Weel,"  said  John  McWalter,  "  Guid  kens  I  dinna 
blame  ye.  Maybe,  after  a',  it  wad  be  as  weel.  I  can  see 
plainly  there  is  gaun  to  be  nae  peace  here,  and  it  was  a' 
my  blame  no  haudin'  my  tongue  this  mornin'.  But  here's 
something  that  will  help  ye  on  your  road  wherever  ye 
gang,  my  lassie,  near  or  far.  There's  nae  better  friend  in 
the  world  that  I  ken  0'  than  just  a  pound  note." 


336  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

And  he  slipped  Vara  a  dirty  little  square  of  papers 
folded  hard  in  his  hand. 

"I  canna  tak'  it,"  said  Vara  protestinglj,  with  the 
paper  in  her  fingers. 

"  Hoots,"  said  John  Mc Walter,  "  I'm  no  needin'  it.  I 
hae  plenty.  And  I  canna  let  ye  gang  oot  o'  my  hoose  un- 
plenished  and  unprovided,  ony  mair  than  if  ye  war  my 
ain  dochter.  Tak'  the  pickle  siller,  lassie,  and  welcome. 
And  hark  ye,  mind  and  crave  the  mistress  for  your  full 
wage  forbye.  She'll  think  a  heap  mair  o'  ye  for  doin' 
that.     And  forbye,  she'll  no  jalloose*  me  so  readily." 

And  that  honest  man  John  McWalter  slipped  like  a 
thief  of  the  night  in  at  the  back  door  of  the  barn. 

Vara  promptly  announced  her  intention  of  going  away 
that  evening.  "Aye  and  welcome,"  said  Mistress  Mc- 
Walter ;  "  the  like  o'  you  should  never  hae  entered  my 
door." 

"I  shall  want  my  wages,"  said  Vara,  plucking  up 
courage  and  remembering  her  master's  words. 

"  Wages,  ye  randy,"  cried  the  goodwife  of  Loch  Spel- 
landerie ;  "  wages !  Set  ye  up,  indeed,  ye  crawlin'  blastie ! 
Think  ye  that  honest  folk's  wages  are  for  the  like  o'  you, 
that  canna  bide  awa'  frae  your  deboshed  paramours,  and 
that  lies  in  wait  to  entrap  decent  folk's  men,  silly  craiturs 
that  they  are?" 

"  I  am  but  a  young  lassie,"  said  Vara,  calmly,  "  and 
think  on  nane  o'  thae  things.  Neither  will  ony  body  be- 
lieve them  but  yoursel'.  But  I'm  gaun  to  hae  my  wages, 
or  I'll  gang  to  the  kirk  yett  next  Sabbath,  and  tell  a'  the 
neebours  how  ye  treat  your  servants,  starvin'  them  on 
scraps  like  dogs,  making  their  lives  a  burden  to  them 
to  get  them  no  to  bide  aboot  the  hoose,  and  then  at 

*  Suspect. 


KIT  KENNEDY'S  FAREWELL.  337 

the  hinder  end  threatening  them  to  give  them  nae 
wages." 

This  threat,  which  would  have  feared  no  one  who  was 
conscious  of  good  intent,  somewhat  stilled  Mrs.  McWal- 
ter's  fury.  For  she  knew  that  anything  of  the  kind  would 
be  greedily  listened  to,  and  retailed  at  all  the  tea  drinking 
in  the  neighbourhood.  And  she  felt,  also,  that  she  had 
not  quite  the  character  in  the  country-side  upon  which 
such  accusations  would  fall  harmless. 

She  went  to  a  locked  drawer. 

"  Here's  your  wages,"  she  said,  "  and  an  ill  wish  gang 
wi'  them.    Glad  am  I  to  be  rid  of  you  ! " 

Even  thus  Vara  took  her  departure  from  the  house  of 
Loch  Spellanderie.  John  McWalter  covertly  watched  her 
carrying  her  bundle  out  of  the  yard.  He  was  looking 
round  the  corner  of  a  corn  stack.  He  dared  not  come 
out  and  bid  the  girl  farewell  because  of  his  wife.  But 
the  tear  was  now  in  his  own  eye. 

"  It  micht  hae  been  my  ain  lassie  leavin'  anither  man's 
hoose.  I  am  wae  for  her,"  he  said.  "  But  I'm  glad  it 
was  a  ten-pund  note  that  I  slippit  her.  And  whatna 
state  wad  the  wife  no  be  in,  gin  she  kenned ! " 

And  there  came  a  faint  pleasure  into  his  grieved  heart 
as  he  watched  Vara  out  of  sight. 

Meanwhile  Mistress  McWalter  stood  at  the  door  with 
victory  in  the  very  poise  of  her  ungainly  figure.  She  had 
disdained  to  utter  a  word,  as  Vara  went  past  her  and 
quietly  bade  her  "  Good-night ! "  But  now  she  cried, 
"  Kit  Kennedy !  Kit  Kennedy  !  Kit  Kennedy  ! "  with  all 
the  penetrative  power  of  her  voice. 

But  there  was  no  answer.     Kit  was  not  to  be  found. 

For  Kit  Kennedy  was  in  a  better  place.  He  was  bid- 
ding his  lady  Gloriana  adieu.  He  had,  indeed,  never  let 
Vara  know  that  he  had  distinguished  her  by  that  name, 


338  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

nor,  indeed,  save  by  his  kindness  and  help,  that  he  thought 
of  her  at  all. 

But  now  she  was  going  away  for  ever.  Her  little  bun- 
dle was  in  her  hand.  Her  all  was  in  it,  and  what  Loch 
Spellanderie  would  be  without  her.  Kit  did  not  like  to 
think  just  yet. 

It  was  under  the  orchard  apple  trees,  at  the  place 
where  they  overhang  the  wall,  that  Kit  was  waiting. 

"  I'm  vexed.  Vara,  I^m  sair  vexed  that  ye  are  gaun 
awa'  to  leave  us ! "  said  Kit  Kennedy,  hanging  his  head. 
"  I  do  not  ken  what  we  will  do  without  you.  It  will  no 
be  the  same  place  ava ! " 

"  Fare  ye  weel,  lad,"  Vara  said,  holding  out  her  hand  ; 
"ye  hae  been  kind  to  me.     Aye,  juist  past  speakin'  o' !  " 

"  I'll  carry  your  bundle  as  far  as  the  march  dyke,  gin 
ye'll  let  me,"  said  Kit,  for  once,  bashfully.  "I  canna 
bear  to  think  on  ye  gangin'  like  this ! " 

"  Ye  had  better  no,"  said  Vara,  "  she  micht  see  ye ! " 

"  Her ! "  said  Kit,  with  a  scornful  look  over  his  shoul- 
der ;  "  I  wadna  care  a  buckie  gin  she  was  walkin'  up  the 
loan  ahint  us  !  " 

Yet,  in  spite  of  this  gallant  defiance.  Vara  turned 
round  to  make  sure  that  the  good  wife  of  Loch  Spellan- 
derie was  not  in  the  place  designated. 

They  walked  a  long  while  in  silence.  It  was  Kit  who 
spoke  first. 

"  Vara,"  he  said,  "  will  ye  whiles  think  on  me  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will  that,"  said  Vara  readily ;  "  ye  hae 
been  verra  kind  to  me  here." 

"  I'm  but  a  laddie,  I  ken,"  said  Kit,  "  but  ye  micht 
no  a'thegither  forget  me.     I'll  never  forget  you,  lassie !  '* 

There  fell  another  silence  between  them. 

"  Ye'll  be  gaun  back  to  be  near  him  ? "  said  Kit,  a 
little  sullenly. 


KIT  KENNEDY'S  FAREWELL.  339 

"Aye,"  replied  Vara,  in  a  voice  that  was  almost  a 
whisper,  "  maybe  !  Ye  see,  we  hae  kenned  yin  anither  a' 
oor  lives.  And  he  kens  hoo  I  was  brocht  up — and  a'  aboot 
my  folk !    And  I  ken  his." 

"  I'm  jalloosin'  ye'll  be  desperate  fond  0'  him  ?  "  said 
Kit,  in  the  same  hang-dog  way,  as  if  he  were  taking  pleas- 
ure in  his  own  pain. 

"He  fed  the  bairns  wi'  milk  and  bread,"  replied 
Vara  softly;  "aye,  and  gied  us  a'  that  he  had  when 
we  were  starvin' !  He  gied  up  the  very  roof  abune 
his  heid  to  shelter  us  when  we  were  turned  oot  on  the 
street.  I  canna  help  bein'  fond  0'  him,  Kit.  'Deed  I 
canna." 

Kit  Kennedy  thought  a  long  time,  till  indeed  they  had 
walked  quite  across  a  field.     Then  he  spoke. 

"  I  canna  feed  ye,  nor  yet  look  after  the  bairns  for  ye. 
I  hae  nae  hoose  to  put  ye  in.  Vara.  But  0,  I  am  that 
fond  of  ye,  it's  like  to  break  my  heart." 

Vara  stretched  out  her  hand. 

"An'  I'm  fond  o'  you  too,  laddie  !"  she  said. 

"Aye,  but  no  the  way  I  mean!"  said  Kit  sadly,  with 
a  sob  in  his  voice. 

"  I'll  be  aye  thinkin'  on  ye,"  said  Vara.  "  I  wish  ye 
war  awa'  frae  this  place." 

"  Dinna  gie  that  a  thocht ! "  said  Kit,  bravely ;  "  I'm 
no  mindin'  a  hair  for  my  auntie — at  least,  I  wadna  if  ye 
had  only  bided,  so  that  whiles  I  could  hae  looked  at  ye, 
Vara ! " 

They  had  been  walking  hand  in  hand  for  some  time. 
Kit  Kennedy  was  tingling  with  a  great  desire.  His  heart 
was  beating  violently,  as  he  nerved  himself  for  the 
plunge. 

They  were  at  the  march-dyke,  just  where  it  plunged 
into  the  wood  of  birches  and  alders.    The  path  went  down 


340  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

close  along  the  lake  shore  from  that  point.  The  trees 
made  a  green  haze  of  dusk  there,  with  airs  blowing  cool 
from  off  the  lake. 

"  Gloriana,"  said  Kit  suddenly,  "  will  ye  gie  me  a  bit 
kiss  to  mind  ye  by  ?  " 

Vara  looked  at  the  lad  with  e3^es  of  shy  terror.  This 
was  indeed  something  new.  Even  Cleg,  who  would  readily 
have  died  for  her,  or  given  her  his  coat  or  his  house,  if  he 
had  one,  had  never  offered  to  kiss  her.  So  at  the  sound 
of  Kit's  voice  her  heart  also  drummed  in  her  ears  emptily, 
as  if  her  head  were  deep  under  water. 

She  stood  still,  looking  away  from  him,  but  not  turn- 
ing her  head  down.  Kit  bent  his  head  and  kissed  her 
fairly. 

A  strange  pang  ran  responsively  to  Yara's  heart — a 
flash  of  rapture  to  Kit's.  They  parted  without  a  word, 
the  girl  walking  sedately  out  of  the  shadows  in  one  direc- 
tion, and  the  lad  running  with  all  his  might  back  to  the 
farm  in  the  other. 

Each  had  their  own  several  communings. 

Vara  said  to  herself,  "Why  does  not  Cleg  think  to 
speak  to  me  like  that?" 

It  was  a  great  blunder  on  Cleg's  part,  certainly,  and,  if 
heart-aches  were  to  be  spared,  one  which  he  should  speed- 
ily set  himself  to  repair. 

And  as  Kit  Kennedy  went  home  he  said,  over  and  over, 
"  I  hae  kissed  her.  I  hae  kissed  her.  Naething  and  nae- 
body  can  take  that  from  me,  at  least." 

But  with  the  stilling  of  his  leaping  and  rejoicing  heart 
came  the  thought,  "  But  had  I  the  right  ?  He  fed  them 
and  clothed  them,  and  never  asked  as  much.  He  is  better 
than  I.  I  will  not  trouble  them  any  more.  For  he  is 
better  and  worthier  than  I." 

So  Kit's  dreams  and  imaginings  helped  him  to  some- 


A   YOUNG  MAN'S  FANCY.  341 

thing  more  knightly  in  his  renunciation  than  in  the  brief 
rapturous  flash  of  possession. 


ADVENTUEE  LV. 

A   YOUNG   man's   FANCY. 

Meanwhile  Cleg  was  looking  after  the  General's  in- 
terests when,  had  he  known  it,  he  ought  rather  to  have 
been  looking  after  his  own.  He  closed  the  doors  of  the 
great  house  that  afternoon,  as  he  had  done  for  many 
months,  and  left  his  master  in  his  strange  bed.  He  was 
not  afraid  now,  any  more.  For,  in  spite  of  his  madness, 
there  was  something  engaging  about  the  General,  some- 
thing at  once  childlike  and  ingenuous,  which  came  out  in 
the  close  intercourse  of  two  people  living  altogether  alone. 

Cleg  went  into  the  little  brick  addition  at  the  back, 
and  the  barred  doors  of  the  great  house  shut  mechanically 
behind  him. 

Cleg  was  making  up  his  mind  to  ask  the  General  to 
let  him  live  out  of  the  house.  Cleg  was  thinking,  also,  of 
speaking  to  Vara.  But  then  Vara  might  not  agree.  Had  he 
ever  asked  her?  Of  course  he  had  not.  It  was  "  soft " — so 
he  had  held  up  to  this  point  to  speak  to  a  girl  about  such 
things.  But  yet  the  idea  had  its  pleasures,  and  some  day 
he  would  speak  to  her  about  it.  Had  he  been  hidden 
that  day  in  the  little  copse  by  the  march-dyke,  on  the  road 
from  Loch  Spellanderie,  he  might  have  heard  something 
very  much  to  his  advantage,  which  might  have  spurred 
him  on  to  speak  for  himself,  even  at  the  risk  of  being 
considered" exceedingly  "soft." 

But  the  mere  fact  that  he  thought  of  it  at  all,  argued 


342  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

a  mighty  change  in  this  Cleg  of  ours.  He  was  no  more 
only  an  Arab  of  the  city  all  these  years.  He  had  given 
Mirren  half  his  wages  and  saved  the  rest,  so  that,  with  the 
Christmas  presents  the  General  had  given  him,  he  had 
nearly  a  hundred  pounds  in  the  bauk. 

Cleg  pushed  his  way  through  the  thickly  matted 
copses  of  spurge  laurel  and  wet-shot  alder.  He  was  go- 
ing to  Sandyknowes.  The  lush  green  Solomon's  seal  was 
growing  all  around,  with  its  broad-veined  green  leaves. 
A  little  farther  on  he  came  on  the  pure  white  blossoms  of 
bog  trefoil,  with  its  flossy,  delicate  petals,  lace-edged  like 
feminine  frilleries. 

A  thought  came  into  Cleg's  mind  at  the  time  which 
bore  fruit  afterwards.  He  thought  that,  if  at  any  time  he 
should  lose  his  position  with  the  General,  he  knew  what 
he  should  do.  For  Cleg  was  an  optimist,  and  a  working, 
scheming  optimist  as  well.  The  man  who  succeeds  in 
this  world  is  doubtless  the  man  who,  according  to  the 
copybook  maxim,  gives  his  undivided  attention  to  the 
matter  in  hand.  But  he  is  also  the  man  who  has  always 
a  scheme  or  two  in  reserve.  He  is  the  man  who  is  ready, 
if  need  be,  to  "  fight  it  out  on  this  line  all  summer,"  but 
who  has  also  at  the  same  time  other  fighting  lines  in  re- 
serve for  the  autumn  and  winter  campaigns. 

So  Cleg,  with  his  ready  brain,  turned  the  wild  flowers 
into  a  means  of  getting  the  little  house  in  the  background 
for  Vara  and  himself,  even  if  the  General's  kindness 
should  vanish  away  as  quickly  and  unexpectedly  as  it  had 
come. 

The  house  of  Sandyknowes  was  very  quiet.  Mirren 
Douglas  had  put  away  vain  regrets  even  as  she  had  laid 
away  Muckle  Alick's  things — and  that  was  as  neatly  as  if 
he  was  to  need  them  next  Sabbath  when  he  made  ready 
for  the  kirk.     She  had  reviewed  her  position.     And  for 


A  YOUNG  MAN^S  FANCY.  343 

four  years,  with  Yara's  and  Cleg's  help,  she  had  owed  no 
man  anything,  and  had  brought  up  Hugh  and  Gavin  as 
if  they  were  her  own.  But  she  never  thought  of  herself 
as  Alick's  widow.     She  was  his  wife  still. 

Alick  and  she  had  been  saving  people.  Also  he  had 
been,  as  was  said,  "  a  weel-likit  man  aboot  the  station," 
and  he  had  left  her  nearly  four  hundred  pounds  in  the 
bank.  But  this  Mirren,  like  a  prudent  woman,  had  re- 
solved not  to  touch  if  she  could  help  it.  She  had  still  six 
years  to  run  of  the  nineteen  years'  lease  of  Sandyknowes — 
its  grass  parks  and  its  gardens,  its  beeskeps  and  little 
office  houses.  But  she  was  often  a  little  wearied  at  night, 
cumbered  with  much  service.  She  felt  that  now  she 
needed  help. 

Her  thoughts  fell  on  Vara.  Should  she  not  bring  her 
home  ?  But  yet  how  could  she  take  her  away  till  the  term 
from  Mistress  McWalter  of  Loch  Spellanderie  ? 

At  that  very  moment  Vara  herself  opened  the  door 
and  walked  in. 

"  Wi'  lassie ! "  cried  the  astonished  Mirren  Douglas, 
"  what  for  hae  ye  left  your  place  ?  Hae  ye  gotten  leave  to 
bidea'nicht?" 

"  I  hae  gotten  my  fee  an'  my  leave,  like  the  brownie 
Kit  Kennedy  sings  aboot ! "  said  Vara  pleasantly. 

"  And  what's  the  reason  0'  that  ?  "  said  Mirren,  with 
great  anxiety  in  her  motherly  face. 

"  The  master  and  the  mistress  fell  oot  aboot  me,"  said 
Vara  simply. 

"  Then  I  needna  ask  what  yin  0'  them  was  in  your 
favour,"  said  Mirren,  sharply. 

"  I  must  look  out  for  a  place,"  said  Vara.  "  Oh,  Mir- 
ren Douglas,  ye  hae  been  kind  to  me.  But  I  couldna 
think  0'  puttin'  you  to  fash  and  trouble  ony  longer,  noo 
that  I'm  woman  muckle,  and  able  to  be  doin'  for  mysel'." 


344  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

"  Lassie,"  said  little  Mistress  Mirren  Douglas  of  Sandy- 
knowes,  "  will  ye  hae  this  place  here  ?  I  was  gaun  awa' 
to  look  for  a  lass  this  very  minute.  Will  ye  bide  at 
Sandyknowes,  at  least  till  ye  will  be  wantin'  to  leave  us  o' 
your  ain  accord  some  day  ?  " 

"  Aye,  that  I  will,  and  heartily  ! "  cried  Yara,  smiling 
gladly. 

And  the  tender-hearted  little  woman  in  black  fairly 
took  Vara  in  her  arms  and  wept  over  her. 

"  I  canna  think  what's  come  ower  me  thae  days,"  she 
said ;  "  I  greet  that  easy.  And  everything  that  I  tak'  in 
my  fingers  breaks.  Since  Alick  gaed  awa'  I  think  whiles 
that  my  fingers  hae  a'  grown  to  be  thumbs ! " 

There  was  a  rap  at  the  door.  Vara  rose  naturally  and 
went  to  it  as  if  she  had  never  been  away.  It  was  Cleg 
Kelly. 

All  his  greeting  was  just  "  Weel,  Vara  !  "  He  did  not 
so  much  as  oJffer  to  take  her  hand.  Clever  as  he  thought 
himself.  Cleg  Kelly  had  a  great  deal  to  learn.  Yet  that 
very  moment  he  had  been  dreaming  of  the  little  house 
which  was  to  grow  out  of  the  General's  bounty,  and  out 
of  the  trefoil  and  forget-me-not  in  the  bog.  Yet,  when 
he  found  his  sweetheart  at  the  back  of  the  door,  he  could 
only  mutter  "  Weel,  Vara  ! "     Nothing  more. 

Cleg  and  Vara  went  in  together,  without  speaking. 
Mirren  rose  to  shake  hands.  But  little  Hugh  was  before 
her.  He  distinguished  himself  by  summarily  tumbling 
Gavin  heels  over  head  and  scrambling  towards  the 
visitor. 

"  Cleg  Kelly !  Cleg  Kelly ! "  he  cried.  "  I  want  ye  to 
fecht  the  Drabble  and  gar  him  gie  me  back  my  pistol. 
I'm  big  enough  noo  !  There's  an  awesome  heap  o'  wild 
beasts  here  to  shoot  if  only  I  had  a  pistol.  In  the  wood 
at  the  back  there's  lots  o^  elephants,  and  leepards,  and — 


A   YOUNG  MAN'S  FANCY.  345 

and  teegars,"  lie  added,  when  he  found  that  Cleg  looked 
sufficiently  credulous. 

"  And  how  do  ye  get  on  with  the  daft  General  ?  "  asked 
Mirren,  with  great  interest  in  her  face. 

Cleg  was  amused  at  her  question.  He  had  become 
quite  accustomed  to  the  wonder  on  people's  faces,  usually 
shading  into  awe,  when  they  asked  him  concerning  his 
position  in  the  household  of  the  redoubtable  General 
Theophilus  Ruff. 

"  Fine,"  said  Cleg.  "  Him  and  me  'grees  line.  I  hae 
nae  faut  to  the  General." 

"  Preserve  us,"  said  Mirren,  "  I  never  heard  the  like. 
The  auld  wizard  hadna  had  a  leevin'  soul  aboot  him  before 
you  came,  since  his  Indian  servant  Copper-Blackie  died. 
And  that's  ten  year  since.  And  to  think  that  ye  hae  nae 
faut  to  him  !  " 

She  looked  at  Cleg  again. 

"  Noo,  come,"  she  said,  "  sit  doon  and  tell  us  a'  aboot 
what's  inside  the  hoose." 

But  Cleg  remained  uninterestingly  discreet.  He  said 
nothing  about  the  General's  bedroom ;  but  he  filled  up 
the  tale  with  the  most  minute  details  concerning  the 
vaulted  passages,  the  iron-barred  casements  in  the  hall, 
and  the  camp-like  conveniences  of  the  little  brick  build- 
ing at  the  back. 

Vara  and  Mirren  Douglas  listened  with  close  atten- 
tion. Hugh  stopped  teasing  the  cat  with  a  feather,  as  it 
was  trying  to  go  to  sleep  on  the  hearthrug.  Gavin  was 
already  asleep,  with  a  brass  door-knob  and  a  whip  clutched 
in  his  hands. 

"Aweel,"  said  Mirren,  when  Cleg  had  finished,  "I 
thought  it  was  a  deal  waur  than  that.  But  he  maun  be  a 
fearsome  creature  to  leeve  wi',  the  General.  Yet  he  is 
nane  so  ill  a  neebour  to  me." 


346  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

Cleg  uncrossed  his  legs  and  became  instantly  at  ease. 
Mirren  looked  affectionately  at  Vara. 

"  Heard  ye,"  she  said,  "  that  I  hae  gotten  a  new  serv- 
ant lass  ?  I  am  able  to  do  withoot  her  wage.  And  it  is 
worth  far  mair  for  the  company,"  she  added. 

"  I  wish  I  could  bide  and  help  ye  too,  for  Alick's  sake," 
said  Cleg,  shyly. 

Mirren  rose  and  ran  to  the  boy.  Hastily  Cleg  held 
out  his  hand,  and  Mirren  Douglas  clasped  it.  He  was 
afraid  that  she  was  going  to  kiss  him,  and  though  he  ad- 
mitted the  thing  as  an  abstract  possibility  of  the  future, 
it  had  not  quite  come  to  that  with  him  yet. 

"  Cleg,"  she  said,  "  ye  are  a  kind,  good  lad." 

"Aye,  that  he  is,"  chimed  in  Vara ;  "  and  ye  wad  say 
so  if  ye  kenned  him  as  I  do." 

Cleg  began  to  expand  in  this  atmosphere  of  appre- 
ciation. He  decided  to  wait  for  tea.  The  hours  sped 
all  too  swiftly,  and  the  appointed  time  arrived  before  he 
knew  it,  when  he  must  return  to  the  great  barred  prison 
with  the  little  brick  martin's  nest  attached  to  the  back  of  it. 

But  before  Cleg  went  away  he  brought  in  the  water 
for  the  night,  filling  all  the  cans.  He  scoured  the  milk 
pails  ready  for  the  milking  of  Mirren  Douglas's  three 
cows.  He  split  abundance  of  kindling  w6od.  He 
brought  in  the  peats  off  the  stack — enough  to  do  for  all 
the  following  day.  He  swept  the  yard  clean  as  a  hearth, 
with  a  worn  stable  brush.  He  promised  to  come  back  on 
the  morrow  and  sweep  the  chimney,  when  Mirren  puffed 
her  cheeks  at  the  smoke  which  blew  down  it  occasionally. 
Then  he  brought  home  the  cows,  assisted  by  Hugh,  Vara 
watching  meanwhile  a  little  wistfully  from  the  gate.  She 
felt  sure  that  if  it  had  been  Kit  Kennedy,  he  would  not 
have  chosen  Hugh  to  help  him.  Mirren  watched  the  girl 
with  sharp,  kindly  eyes,  but  she  said  nothing. 


A  YOUNG  MAN'S   FANCY.  347 

When  Cleg  had  done  everything  that  he  conld  think 
of  for  Vara  and  her  mistress,  he  tied  a  new  whip  lash  on 
Gavin's  driving  stick,  tossed  Hugh  up  to  the  ceiling,  and 
departed. 

Vara  came  with  him  to  the  door.  Cleg  did  not  even 
attempt  to  shake  hands.  On  the  contrary,  he  edged  cau- 
tiously away  lest  Vara  should  offer  to  do  it.  "  A  chap  looks 
saf t  aye  shakin'  hands  "  was  how  he  explained  the  matter 
to  himself.  So  when  Vara  stood  a  moment  at  the  door- 
step, with  her  hands  wrapped  tightly  in  her  white  apron 
and  her  eyes  upon  the  beehives.  Cleg  looked  at  her  a  long 
time.  It  was  exceedingly  good  to  look  upon  her,  and  he 
had  a  little  heartache  all  to  himself  as  he  thought  of 
Theophilus  Kulf  in  his  terrible  bedroom.  Vara  seemed 
all  sunshine  and  pleasantness.  But  still  he  could  think 
of  nothing  to  say,  till  he  was  about  ten  yards  down  the 
walk.     Then  at  last  he  spoke. 

"  Ye  are  takkin'  your  meat  weel  to  a'  appearance,"  he 
said. 

Vara  understood  his  meaning  and  was  pleased.  It  was 
more  to  her  from  Cleg  than  all  Kit  Kennedy's  sweet 
speeches.  Her  mind  was  mightily  relieved.  Cleg  would 
learn  yet. 

But  Vara  only  replied,  "  Do  you  think  so.  Cleg  ?  " 

"  Guidnicht,  Vara,"  said  Cleg,  soberly. 

And  with  that  he  took  his  way  sedately  over  the  fields 
and  disappeared  into  the  coppice  towards  the  house  of 
Barnbogle.  Vara  watched  him  out  of  sight;  but  now 
not  so  wistfully.  There  was  a  proud  little  expression  in 
her  face.  She  looked  almost  conscious  of  her  growing 
beauty. 

"  He  maun  think  an  awf u'  deal  o'  me  to  say  that ! " 
she  told  herself. 

When  she  went  back  into  the  house  Mirren  Douglas 


348  CLEG   KELLY,  ARAB   OF   THE  CITY. 

was  just  putting  on  her  milking  apron.  She  pretended 
to  busy  herself  with  the  strings. 

"Cleg  doesna  improve  muckle  in  looks,"  she  said; 
"  he's  no  great  beauty,  is  he  noo  ?  " 

She  spoke  with  intent  to  see  what  Vara  would  reply. 
For,  after  her  sorrow,  the  old  Mirren  was  springing  up 
again  like  roses  in  an  Indian  summer. 

"  I  never  think  muckle  aboot  his  looks  when  I  see 
him,"  said  Vara  quickly.  "If  he  had  looked  like  an 
angel,  he  couldna  hae  been  kinder  to  me." 

"  Hoots,  lassie,"  said  Mirren  hastily,  "  I  was  only  jokin' 
ye.  He  is  grow  in'  a  fine,  personable  lad,  and  when  he  has 
some  flesh  on  his  banes  and  a  wee  tait  o'  mair  growth 
aboot  his  face,  he'll  do  verra  weel." 

"  He  does  very  weel  as  he  is,  I  think,"  said  the  loyal 
Vara,  who  was  not  yet  appeased.  "  He  has  chappit  the 
firewood,  fetched  the  water,  brocht  in  the  peats  and  stalled 
the  kye,  soopit  the  yaird — and  he  is  coming  back  the  morn 
to  clean  the  lum." 

"  And  to  see  you.  Vara,"  said  Mirren  Douglas,  with 
wicked  meaning  in  her  tone.  "  What  said  ye  at  the  door 
when  he  cannily  bade  ye  guidnicht.  Vara  ?  " 

"  He  said  I  was  lookin'  like  takkin'  my  meat  weel," 
said  Vara,  demurely  pulling  at  the  corner  of  her  apron, 
where  a  knot  of  the  lace  was  coming  loose.  At  least 
Vara  was  rapidly  loosening  it. 

"  Let  your  apron  be,  lassie ;  what  ill-will  hae  ye  at  it  ?" 
cried  Mirren  from  the  doorstep. 

Vara  dropped  the  loop  as  if  it  had  been  a  white-hot 
iron.  And  as  Mirren  Douglas  carried  her  milking  stool 
to  the  byre,  she  dropped  a  few  tears.  "  I  mind  sae  weel," 
she  said  to  herself,  "  the  time  when  Alick  was  a  lad  and 
coming  aboot  the  place,  I  used  to  like  naething  better  than 
for  folk  to  be  aye  botherin'  me  aboot  him  ! " 


THE  VOICES  IN  THE  MARSH.  349 

And  if  "  bothering  "  be  a  provocative  to  love,  Mirren 
resolved  that  neither  Vara  nor  Cleg  should  lack  the  ama- 
torious  irritant. 


ADVENTURE  LVL 

THE  VOICES  IK  THE   MAESH. 

During  the  days  that  followed  her  home-coming  Vara 
was  happier  than  she  had  ever  been.  In  the  warm  sun- 
shine of  family  love  and  physical  well-being  the  curves  of 
her  figure  filled  out.  She  seemed  to  shoot  up  all  at  once 
from  the  child  into  the  woman.  Her  eyes  lost  their  old 
frightened  look.  Her  arms  and  shoulders  hid  their  angles 
and  became  curved  and  dimpled.  But  Cleg  waxed  even 
more  shy  and  awkward.  But,  nevertheless,  he  came  every 
day,  and  if  there  was  anything  to  be  done  about  the  house, 
or  in  the  little  grass  parks.  Cleg  Kelly  was  there  to  do  it. 
It  was  Cleg,  for  instance,  who  started  the  wonderful  wild- 
flower  industry.  This  was  the  secret  which  he  had  kept 
in  store  against  the  day  when  he  should  fall  out  with  the 
General. 

It  was  Cleg's  idea  that  if  only  he  could  send  large 
enough  quantities  of  the  commoner  wild  flowers  to  the 
market,  there  would  soon  be  a  trade  in  them  which  might, 
with  proper  attention,  grow  to  very  considerable  dimen- 
sions. 

Not  that  Cleg  contemplated  any  great  extensions  at 
present.  But  he  desired  to  make  a  beginning,  so  that  he 
might  not  have  to  build  up  from  the  foundations,  if  any- 
thing were  suddenly  to  happen  which  might  cast  him 
again  upon  the  world. 

So  Cleg  advertised  in  the  Scottish  city  papers  that  he 


350  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

was  prepared  to  supply  both  blooms  and  entire  plants  of 
such  ferns  and  wild  flowers  as  grew  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  N'etherby.  He  got  Vara  also  to  send  similar  advertise- 
ments to  the  Exchange  and  Mart  and  other  papers.  And 
in  a  little  time  he  had  developed  as  large  a  trade  as  could 
be  carried  on  directly  by  parcel  and  limited  orders.  He 
found,  for  instance,  a  hill  not  far  off  which  was  entirely 
overgrown  with  the  parsley-fern.  And  with  this  he  made 
great  deals  in  the  fern  market.  For  he  was  able  to  sup- 
ply a  dozen  or  a  hundred  plants  for  a  very  modest  remit- 
tance, and  that  with  merely  the  trouble  of  walking  to  the 
hill  for  them. 

But  he  saw  that  the  undertaking  must  have  a  surer 
basis  than  this  haphazard  ingathering  of  chance  growths. 
And  so  Cleg  set  himself  to  plant  out  and  cultivate  the 
wild  flowers  in  ground  naturally  suited  for  their  growth. 
He  had  the  wet  morass  at  hand  for  the  water-plants,  the 
burnside  for  those  which  loved  to  be  near,  but  not  in,  run- 
ning water.  There  were  shy  nooks  about  the  linn  for 
ferns,  and  for  the  rest  the  fine  light  soil  of  Sandyknowes. 
He  utilised  ground  which  was  not  in  use  for  any  other 
purposes,  fencing  it  round  with  wire,  and  setting  Vara 
and  Hugh  to  do  the  watering  and  caring  for  the  plants,  as 
they  had  done  long  ago  around  the  old  construction  hut  in 
Callendar's  yard. 

Hugh  Boy  went  to  school  during  the  day  at  K"etherby 
Academy,  and  was  proving  a  great  success.  Cleg  Kelly 
taught  him  how  to  box,  and  warned  him  at  the  same  time 
not  to  fight.  But  Cleg  added  that  if  he  needed  to  do 
it,  it  was  better  to  do  it  once  for  all  and  be  done  with  it. 
So  these  advantages  assured  Hugh  an  easy  life  of  it  at 
school. 

Cleg  had  also  been  thinking  much  lately  of  develop- 
ing the  wild-flower  business.     He  meant  to  establish  an 


THE  VOICES  IN  THE  MARSH.  351 

agency  in  each  of  the  larger  towns,  and  he  had  already 
written  a  letter  to  Cleaver's  boy  offering  him  terms  as  his 
agent  and  advising  him  to  look  out  for  openings.  For 
Cleg  was  proving  himself  above  all  things  practical,  and 
seemed  destined  to  turn  out  as  prosperous  a  business  man 
as  Bailie  Holden. 

The  General  often  laughed  at  Cleg's  devotion  to  his 
flowers  and  his  children.  Yet  he  liked  to  hear  tidings  of 
them.  Sometimes,  indeed,  he  reproved  Cleg  for  bringing 
with  him  a  floating  atmosphere  and  suggestion  of  woman- 
kind. But  Cleg  always  assured  him  that  he  had  been 
careful  to  change  his  clothes. 

Life  at  Barnbogle  went  on  uneventfully.  Daily  the 
time  locks  clicked.  Daily  the  General  retired  to  his 
strange  bedroom,  coming  forth  again  with  the  pupils  of 
his  eyes  dilated  and  his  face  drawn  with  the  drugs  which 
he  had  inhaled  and  swallowed.  Cleg  cooked  the  bacon, 
brewed  the  tea,  and  made  a  couple  of  daily  pilgrimages  to 
the  room  of  the  three  coffins.  Then  he  came  out  again 
and  shut  the  doors  carefully  behind  him,  and  slept  sound- 
ly at  nights.  Cleg  had  no  spiritual  fears  and  had  out- 
grown his  illusions — at  least  such  of  them  as  interfered 
with  a  pound  a  week. 

But  whenever  he  went  into  Netherby  he  found  him- 
self an  object  of  great  interest.  For  not  even  the  pecca- 
dilloes of  the  ministers  of  Netherby,  nor  yet  the  unbecom- 
ing gaiety  of  their  wives'  attire,  supplied  so  favourite  a 
subject  for  gossip  to  the  good  folk  of  the  town  as  the 
madness  and  the  miserliness  of  General  Theophilus  Euff. 

The  old  men  would  tell  over  again  those  tales  of  the 
General  driving  his  coach  and  six  with  the  lady  by  his 
side  who  was  arrayed  like  the  Queen  of  Sheba.  Netherby 
had  never  had  any  doubt  as  to  the  fascinating  moral  char- 
acter of  this  personage.    And  Theophilus  Ruff  still  carried 


352  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

the  glory  of  his  former  sins  about  with  him,  even  though 
he  had  dwelt  for  twenty  years  a  hermit  and  a  madman  in 
his  house  of  Barnbogle. 

His  fabulous  wealth  was  everywhere  a  common  topic. 
He  received  his  rents  in  person,  but  none  of  it,  so  far  as 
was  known,  was  placed  in  the  banks  of  the  neighbour- 
hood. The  builders,  the  engineers,  and  the  locksmiths 
from  the  city  had,  as  we  have  seen,  all  told  tales  of  the 
strong-rooms  they  had  been  erecting,  and  of  the  secret 
arrangements  which  had  been  made  with  a  great  firm  in 
London  for  yet  more  complete  safety. 

"  It's  a  perfect  Guid's  wonder  that  ye  are  no  a'  mur- 
dered in  your  beds,  wi'  thae  millions  of  siller  lyin'  in  the 
hoose,"  said  one  of  Cleg's  most  persistent  inquisitors,  after 
vainly  trying  to  extract  from  Cleg  whether  he  had  ever 
seen  the  treasure  with  his  own  eyes. 

"  I  wadna  be  in  your  shoon  for  a  hundred  pounds  a 
week — na,  no  for  a'  the  gowd  in  Barnbogle  Hoose,"  the 
respectable  shopkeeper  told  him  each  time  he  came  in. 
"The  General's  servants  never  leave  him.  Na,  they  a' 
dee — and  generally  michty  suddenly  at  the  tail  o'  the  day. 
And  naebody  kens  in  what  mainner  they  come  by  their 
ends.  I'm  thinking  that  when  he  gets  tired  o'  them,  he 
juist  locks  them  up  in  yin  o'  his  iron  rooms  and  then — 
lets  them  bide  there ! " 

But  Cleg  was  not  frightened,  as  the  good  grocer  had 
hoped.  He  bought  his  red  herrings,  his  bacon,  and  his 
eggs ;  and  he  carried  them  peacefully  back  to  the  brick 
building  in  the  rear  of  the  vast  blind  wall  of  Barnbogle 
House,  to  be  ready  when  the  General  should  come  again 
from  his  room. 

"  A  pound  a  week  was  never  easier  earned,"  said  prac- 
tical and  unimaginative  Cleg. 

Vara  felt  that  this  time  of  bliss  was  too  sweet  to  last. 


THE  VOICES  IN  THE  MARSH.  353 

Yet,  with  the  fatalism  of  those  bred  up  in  the  midst  of 
misery,  she  was  content  to  bask  carelessly  in  the  sunshine 
of  present  prosperity.  She  was  like  a  bird  taking  its  fill 
of  the  warmth  and  delight  of  summer,  without  a  thought 
of  blusterous  winter  winds  and  the  shrewd  pinch  of  nip- 
ping skies. 

But  one  night,  when  the  year  was  already  drawing  to 
its  end,  and  November  was  expiring  in  a  clear  silver-grey 
rime  of  frost,  Vara  was  locking  up  the  outhouses  at  Sandy- 
knowes  in  the  gloaming.  She  had  already  been  at  the 
byre,  and  had  given  the  cows  their  last  bit  of  fodder,  and 
a  pat  each  on  the  flank  as  she  passed — a  pat  so  remote 
from  the  sentient  and  operative  end  of  the  animal,  that  it 
seemed  almost  as  ridiculous  as  caressing  the  porch  of  a 
church  in  order  to  please  the  parson. 

N'evertheless,  Vara  never  omitted  the  ceremony  on  any 
consideration.  Yet  this  particular  evening,  all  the  time 
she  was  foddering  the  cattle  Vara  had  a  strange  con- 
sciousness that  she  heard  voices  somewhere  over  towards 
the  marsh.  The  crisp  air  of  coming  frost  sharpened  her 
hearing,  and  as  the  stars  pricked  themselves  out,  the 
whole  night  rang  like  a  bell  with  unknown  and  far-away 
sounds. 

Voices  Vara  certainly  did  hear.  But  she  thought  that 
it  might  be  only  a  lad  and  lass  on  their  way  to  the  dancing- 
school,  or  a  herd  talking  aloud  to  his  dog  for  company  as 
he  went  homeward.  Yet  the  sounds  did  not  resemble  any 
of  those  with  which  Vara  had  been  recently  acquainted. 
Some  awful  dread,  inherited  from  a  former  and  a  more 
terrible  existence,  returned  upon  her. 

Her  breath  came  hard  and  quick.  She  grew  first  hot 
and  then  cold,  as  she  stole  down  by  the  barn-end  to  listen. 
She  was  nearer  to  the  voices  there.  The  murmur  of  them 
came  more  instant  and  terrible  up  from  the  swamp  above 


354:  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

which  Sandyknowes  sat  on  its  hill.  Vara  stole  on  tiptoe 
nearer  and  nearer.  The  old  hut  in  the  hollow  was  a  de- 
serted cot-house  of  the  General's — a  mere  but-and-ben — 
which  Muckle  Alick  had  been  accustomed  to  use  for  stor- 
ing old  railway  sleepers  in.  For  these  are  the  winter  fuel 
of  men  who  work  upon  the  railway. 

Presently  Vara  saw  its  white  gable-end  staring  out  at 
her  through  the  bare  branches  of  the  underbrush.  The 
angry  voices  became  louder  and  more  threatening.  A 
ray  of  light  stole  through  a  chink  in  the  boarded-up  win- 
dow. Stealthily  Vara  went  on  tiptoe  round  the  gable  till 
she  could  put  her  eye  to  the  chink.  A  cloth  had  been 
hung  up  over  the  window,  past  one  corner  of  which  Vara 
could  just  see  a  fire  flickering  in  the  grateless  fireplace  of 
the  deserted  cottage. 

But  her  heart  sank  within  her  at  the  words  she  heard, 
which  rang  like  the  very  trump  of  doom  in  her  ears: 
"  Timothy  Kelly,"  cried  a  voice  which  Vara  well  knew — 
even  that  of  her  mother — "  I  tell  ye  I  will  have  no  murder 
done !  And  on  your  own  son !  Shame  on  ye !  It  is 
enough  to  bring  a  judgment  on  us  all  just  to  talk  about 
it.  I  tell  ye  we  can  get  the  stuff  out  of  the  house  o'  the 
loony  General  without  the  like  of  that." 

Then  the  piping  voice  of  the  weasel-faced  Tim  Kelly 
answered,  "  'Tis  little  that  ye  know,  Sal  Kavannah,  you 
that  never  were  at  the  taking  of  a  farthing's  worth  in 
your  life,  except  off  boosy  softies  in  the  street.  I  tell  ye, 
woman,  that  if  Clig  Kelly  were  to  come  in  my  road  when 
I  am  getting  out  the  cargo  I'd  spit  him  like  a  rat ! " 

"But,  maybes,"  said  the  other  voice,  which  thrilled 
Vara  the  most,  "  maybes,  if  ye  was  to  speak  peaceable-like 
to  the  lad  ye  might  get  him  to  stand  in  with  us." 

"Sorra  a  fear  of  him,"  replied  Tim;  "Clig  Kelly 
might  have  been  like  a  lump  of  paving-stone,  for  all  the 


THE  VOICES  IN  THE  MARSH.  355 

kindness  he  ever  showed  to  his  kin.  Aye,  and  after  all 
that  I  have  done  for  the  boy ! " 

"  Childer !  poison  them  ! "  cried  Sal  Kavannah,  "  'tis 
little  you  have  had  to  suffer  with  your  childer,  Timothy 
Kelly !  It's  me  that  knows  to  the  roots  of  my  heart.  But 
wait  till  we  have  this  stuff  lifted  and  safe  in  Mistress  Roy's 
tea-kettle.  Then  we'll  bring  sweating  sorrow  on  them 
that's  the  proud  ones  this  day." 

"  Set  a  match  to  the  house  this  very  night,  and  burn 
it  about  their  ears,"  said  Tim  Kelly.  "  Say  the  word  and 
I'll  do  the  job  for  you,  and  that  willin',  Sal." 

"  I  declare  my  heart's  broke  entirely  with  ungrateful 
children,"  said  Sal  Kavannah ;  "  but  when  once  we  get 
clear  away  with  the  old  General's  jewels,  we  will  have 
time  and  to  spare  to  bring  them  to  their  senses." 

Vara  listened,  now  with  fire  glowing  hot  in  her  heart, 
and  the  next  moment  she  was  again  cold  as  a  stone.  She 
had  her  ear  close  down  against  the  bottom  of  the  window- 
sill,  and  thus  for  a  time  she  stood,  the  thought  that  her 
enemy  had  found  her  out  once  more  overwhelming  all 
other  thoughts. 

But  presently  the  knowledge  of  Cleg  Kelly's  instant 
and  terrible  danger  came  to  her.  Cleg  was  in  sole  charge 
of  the  great  house  of  Barnbogle  with  all  its  wonderful 
treasures.  The  master  of  it  was  reported  to  be  away. 
But,  so  strange  and  unaccountable  were  his  comings  and 
goings,  that  no  one  knew  whether  General  Theophilus 
Ruff  was  really  in  the  nighbourhood  or  not. 

At  all  events,  any  way  that  Vara  thought  about  it, 
there  was  little  doubt  that  Cleg  was  in  imminent  peril  of 
his  life.  For  if  he  refused  to  give  up  the  treasures  of  the 
General,  his  father  would  certainly  kill  him.  And  if  he 
were  frightened  or  tortured  into  telling,  then  no  one  would 
believe  anything  else  than  that  he  had  been  sent  by  his 


356  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

father  to  worm  himself  into  the  confidence  of  the  mad 
General  and  so  open  the  house  to  the  robber. 

Vara  meditated  what  she  should  do.  Could  she  get  to 
the  house  of  Barnbogle  before  Tim  Kelly,  she  might  be 
able  to  put  Cleg  on  his  guard.  But  a  curious  something, 
more  disabling  than  fear,  kept  her  chained  to  the  spot. 

"  The  thing  is  easy  as  throat-slitting,"  said  Tim  em- 
phatically. "  I  tell  you  the  lad  has  the  keys ;  for  I  know 
he  can  let  himself  out  and  in  at  his  pleasure.  Now,  he 
shall  give  up  the  keys  willingly,  or  I  know  a  way  to  make 
him.  If  the  mad  ould  General  comes  in  the  road,  I  have 
that  in  my  pocket  which  will  settle  him  dead  for  life. 
But  I  hear  he's  olf  again  on  his  thundering  rounds,  rest- 
less devil  that  he  is ! " 

"  But  how,"  said  Sal  Kavannah,  "  is  the  like  o'  me  to 
hold  the  boy  ?  He  will  be  as  strong  as  a  young  bullock 
by  now." 

"He'll  be  wake — wake  as  pump- water — when  I  get 
him  in  them  hands,"  whispered  Timothy  Kelly,  so  that 
the  listener  barely  heard  him. 

But  Vara  could  see  his  narrow,  weasel  face  thrust  for- 
ward and  hear  the  hateful  jar  in  his  voice.  "  God's  truth  ! " 
he  said,  "  do  I  not  owe  him  wan  ?  See  them  holes  ?  "  he 
cried  more  loudly,  his  hate  mastering  him,  "  pockmarks 
ye  could  lose  sixpence  in.  'Twas  the  whelp  that  did  that 
to  me  !  Ah !  a  fine  man  was  Tim  Kelly  before  that  sorra 
came  into  the  world." 

"Vara!  Vara!"  cried  suddenly  a  shrill  voice  behind 
the  listening  girl,  as  she  stood  with  her  brow  down  on  the 
window-sill.  Her  heart  leaped  with  wild  terror ;  for  it 
was  the  voice  of  little  Gavin,  come  out  to  seek  her,  and 
she  feared  that  he  would  suddenly  appear  at  the  door  of 
the  house  on  the  bog.  He  had  a  curious  faculty  for  fol- 
lowing his  sister  and  finding  her.     Ever  since  she  came 


THE  VOICES  IN  THE   MARSH.  357 

back  from  Loch  Spellanderie  he  had  not  cared  to  let  her 
out  of  his  sight. 

"  Vara  !  Vara  !  "  the  shrill  childish  voice  came  again. 
She  could  hear  Gavin  coming  nearer,  pushing  his  way 
through  the  crackling  copsewood.  The  wrangling  voices 
within  stilled  themselves.  The  tell-tale  light  went  out  at 
the  crack  in  the  board,  and  Vara  knew  that  the  wild 
beasts  inside  would  be  after  her  in  a  moment. 

If  she  could  only  silence  Gavin,  she  thought.  She  rose 
to  her  feet  and  dashed  towards  him. 

"Vara!  Vara!"  rose  the  child's  voice,  clear  on  the 
frost-bitten  air  ;  "  where  are  ye.  Vara  ?  " 

She  could  hear  him  beating  gleefully  with  a  stick  on  a 
wire  fence  which  ran  down  into  the  marsh,  so  that  the 
very  hills  gave  back  the  clear  humming  sound.  The  wire 
was  Gavin's  telegraph,  and  he  pleased  himself  with  the 
thought  that  he  could  always  communicate  with  Vara  by 
means  of  it.  The  girl  ran  towards  him,  leaping  over  the 
frozen  ditches,  and  speeding  through  the  briars,  heedless 
of  how  she  might  hurt  herself.  She  came  on  Gavin  at  the 
edge  of  the  wood,  beating  on  the  wire  with  his  stick  and 
shouting  boldly,  "  Vara,  Vara,  come  forth  ! "  as  he  had 
heard  the  !N"etherby  minister  do  in  church. 

"  Hush,  hush,  Gavin ! "  she  cried  anxiously,  holding 
out  her  arms  to  him,  "  for  God's  sake,  hush  !  " 

And,  in  an  agony  of  apprehension,  she  lifted  him  and 
strained  him  to  her  breast.  There  came  the  sound  of 
footsteps  running  through  the  wood,  and  Vara  dragged 
Gavin  back  into  the  shelter  of  the  alders  which  grew  thick 
and  rank  in  the  marsh  at  the  end  of  the  fence.  She  cov- 
ered Gavin's  mouth  with  her  shawl  as  the  flying  footsteps 
clattered  nearer. 

Presently  the  dark  figure  of  Tim  Kelly  ran  past  them, 
with  his  head  set  very  far  forward,  scenting  from  side  to 


358  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

side  like  a  beast  of  prey  hunting  upon  a  hot  trail.  He 
held  a  knife  point  downwards  in  his  hand.  Vara  stood 
still  while  the  terrifying  vision  passed.  Tim  Kelly  was 
running  towards  the  house  of  Barnbogle.  She  could  hear 
another — and  heavier — foot  following.  And  before  she 
had  time  to  move,  lo !  Sal  Kavannah  moved  into  the  , 
grey-litten  space,  and  stood  still  within  ten  yards  of  her 
children. 

"  The  Awfu'  Woman  !  "  came  from  Gavin's  lips,  even 
through  the  folds  of  the  shawl.  All  terrifying  things 
were  summed  up  for  him  in  that  phrase  he  had  learned 
from  his  brother  Hugh.  Something  seemed  to  tell  Sal 
Kavannah  that  she  was  near  her  children.  She  stood 
for  what  seemed  an  eternity,  stark  and  staring,  rooted  to 
the  spot,  only  turning  her  head  slowly  from  side  to  side 
and  straining  her  ears  to  hear  the  crack  of  a  twig  or  the 
rustle  of  a  leaf. 

Vara  prayed  as  she  had  never  done  before.  Gavin's 
eyes  were  fixed  in  his  head  with  terror.  The  end  of  the 
world  had  indeed  come.  "  The  Awfu'  Woman  "  was  back 
again,  and  in  a  moment  the  quiet  and  safety  of  Sandy- 
knowes  had  ended  for  them. 

But  Vara  stood  the  test.  And  Gavin  had  no  words 
which  were  not  shut  within  him  by  the  soul-terrifying 
proximity  of  Boy  Hugh's  "  Awfu'  Woman."  So  silently 
did  they  stand  that  Sal  Kavannah  heard  nothing ;  and 
with  her  ears  still  on  the  stretch  she  moved  slowly  away, 
following  Tim  Kelly  in  the  direction  of  Barnbogle. 

Then  was  Vara's  heart  fairly  torn  in  twain.  Should 
she  go  first  to  Mirren  Douglas  and  Boy  Hugh?  Or 
should  she  strike  across  through  the  dark  woods  towards 
Barnbogle  ?  Then,  like  sweet  music,  there  fell  on  her  ears 
the  loud,  hearty  accents  of  the  voice  of  Mistress  Eraser. 

"  Weel,  Mirren,  an'  hoo's  a'  wi'  ye  the  nicht  ?    Hearty, 


to 


FIGHTING  THE  BEASTS.  359 

thank  ye  !  I  hae  brocht  my  guidman  an'  Gibby,  oor  auld- 
est  callant,  ower  by  to  hearten  ye  up.  Gibby  is  a  brave 
bullock-baned  bullion,  no  bonny  ony  mair  than  the  daddy 
o'  him — but  that  like  Tam  Eraser,  that  he  could  na  deny 
him  even  if  he  was  willin'.  And  that  is  a  guid  thing  for 
a  decent  woman's  reputation  !  " 

Vara  could  not  catch  Mirren  Douglas's  reply,  but  she 
could  hear  Mistress  Eraser's  next  words;  for  that  volu- 
ble lady  always  spoke  as  if  it  were  all  important  that  the 
next  two  parishes  should  have  a  chance  of  benefiting  by 
her  wisdom. 

"  Hoots,  no !  Gie  yoursel'  nae  thocht  aboot  the  lassie. 
She  has  Gavin  wi'  her,  and  I'se  warrant  she'll  be  keepin' 
her  bit  trysts,  just  as  you  and  me  had  in  the  days  that's 
lang  bygane.  Come  your  ways  in,  Gibby.  Dinna  stand 
hingin'  a  leg  there  !  " 

Sandyknowes  was  therefore  safe  so  long  as  the  Erasers 
remained.  The  way  was  clear  for  Vara  to  run  through 
the  woods  to  warn  Cleg.  So,  plucking  Gavin  to  her,  she 
lifted  him  in  her  arms  and  ran  towards  Barnbogle  as  hard 
as  she  could.  But  the  wild  beast  and  the  "Awfu' 
Woman  "  had  a  long  start  of  her. 


ADVENTUKE  LVII. 

FIGHTING   THE   BEASTS. 

General  Theophilus  Ruff  was  at  home.  He  had, 
in  fact,  never  been  away.  That  very  morning  his  lawyer 
had  visited  Barnbogle,  and  had  stayed  all  day  in  the  little 
brick  addition,  with  two  of  his  clerks  within  call  in  the 
kitchen  behind,  writing  and  witnessing  deeds.     The  Gen- 


360  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

eral  sent  Cleg  into  Netherby  in  the  forenoon  upon  half-a- 
dozen  errands,  and  in  the  afternoon  he  told  him  that  he 
was  free  to  do  what  he  wished  with  his  time.  Whereupon 
Cleg  went  and  got  a  pail  of  whitewash  to  brighten  up  the 
byre  and  stables  of  Sandyknowes,  a  job  which  he  had  been 
promising  himself  as  a  treat  for  a  long  time. 

After  the  General  had  dismissed  the  solicitor  and  his 
two  clerks  to  go  back  to  the  town  of  Drumnith,  he 
withdrew  into  his  room  and  occupied  himself  with  the 
arrangement  and  docketing  of  multitudinous  papers. 
When  Cleg  came  back  he  made  his  supper  by  himself  in 
the  brick  addition,  and  was  just  sitting  down  with  the 
paper-covered  threepenny  novel  which  represented  litera- 
ture to  him,  when  the  door  opened  and  the  General  came 
in  with  a  roll  of  papers  in  his  hand.  His  hair  stood  nearly 
straight  up,  and  his  eyes  were  bloodshot  and  starting  from 
his  head.  A  great  change  had  come  over  him  since  the 
morning. 

"  Cleg,"  he  said  abruptly,  "  you  are  going  to  lose  your 
place." 

Cleg  stood  on  his  feet  respectfully.  He  was  not  much 
astonished.  He  had  been  waiting  for  an  announcement 
like  this  ever  since  he  found  what  manner  of  man  his  im- 
pulsive master  was.  His  first  thought  was  that  he  would 
be  able  largely  to  increase  the  flower  business. 

"  Yerra  weel,  sir,"  said  Cleg,  glancing  straight  at  the 
General,  who  stood  commandingly  in  the  doorway,  look- 
ing, in  spite  of  his  disarray,  imposing  enough  in  his  un- 
dress uniform ;  "  verra  weel,  sir.  Ye  hae  been  kind  to 
me." 

«  Ah,"  said  the  General,  "  I  mean  that  ye  are  going  to 
lose  your  master,  not  that  he  wishes  you  to  leave  your 
place.  I  have  a  long  journey  to  depart  upon.  I  am  go- 
ing upon  active  service  in  another  world.     Three  times 


FIGHTING  THE  BEASTS.  S61 

yestreen  I  heard  the  black  dog  summon  me  below  the 
window." 

"  That  maun  hae  been  Tam  Eraser's  collie,"  said  Cleg 
promptly,  "  nesty  brute  that  he  is.  I'll  put  a  chairge  o' 
number  five  in  his  tail  the  next  time  he  comes  yowlin'  and 
stravagin'  aboot  here  ! " 

"  No,"  said  the  General,  without  paying  much  atten- 
tion, "  it  was  the  Death  Dog,  which  only  appears  when 
one  of  my  race  is  about  to  die.  My  hours  of  life  are  num- 
bered, or  at  least  I  believe  they  are,  which  is  exactly  the 
same  thing.  You  will  find  that  you  are  not  left  with  the 
empty  hand.  Cleg,  my  man.  See  that  ye  use  it  as  wisely 
as  ye  have  used  my  money.  For  I  have  proved  you  an 
honest  lad,  and  that  to  the  hilt — never  roguing  your 
master  of  a  pennyworth,  high  or  low,  indoor  or  out,  and 
saving  of  the  Danish  butter  when  you  fried  the  fish." 

"  Thank  ye,"  said  Cleg,  "  I  am  no  o'  high  family,  ye 
see.  INTae  dowgs  come  aboot  when  the  Kellys  dee  that  I 
ken  o',  but  if  your  yin  bothers  ye  I'll  shoot  him.  Gin  Eab 
Wullson  the  polissman  hears  tell  o'  it,  he'll  be  at  us  to  tak' 
oot  a  leesence  for  him." 

The  General  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  said,  "  it  is  likely  that  I'll  be  waiting 
for  you  on  the  waterside  when  you  land.  I  have  a  tryst 
to-day  with  the  old  Ferryman.  The  Black  Dog  has  looked 
my  way.  I  hear  the  lapping  of  the  water  against  the  boat's 
sides,  and  I  have  coined  my  gold  for  drachmas  to  pay  my 
passage." 

"  Guidnicht,  sir,"  answered  Cleg,  briskly ;  "  will  ye 
hae  herrin'  or  bacon  to  your  breakfast  the  morn's  morn- 
in'?" 

Cleg  was  accustomed  to  the  General's  megrims,  and 
did  not  anticipate  anything  special  from  this  solemn 
harangue. 

24 


362  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  Nae  fears,  sir,"  he  said,  encouragingly ;  "  you  tak' 
your  comfortable  sleep ;  the  black  collie  will  never  trouble 
ye.  I'll  leave  the  outer  door  on  the  jar,  an'  faith !  I'll 
hae  a  shot  at  him  if  he  comes  youchin'  aboot  this  hoose." 

"  Come  up.  Cleg,"  said  Theophilus  Euff,  as  he  stood 
by  the  door,  "  come  up  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  I'll 
take  my  pipe  as  usual." 

"  Aye,  General,"  said  Cleg,  "  I'll  be  up.  Did  ye  say 
herrin'  ?  " 

The  General  went  out  without  answering,  and  Cleg 
turned  unconcernedly  to  his  immediate  business  of  scour- 
ing the  pans  and  setting  the  kitchen  to  rights.  He  was 
naturally  neat-handed,  and  by  this  time  no  work,  indoors 
or  out,  came  wrong  to  him. 

He  was  whistling  cheerily  and  burnishing  a  tin  skillet 
w^hen  a  slight  noise  at  the  outer  door  startled  him.  He 
dropped  the  can,  and  it  rolled  with  a  clatter  under  the 
dresser. 

"That  dowg  o'  Eraser!"  he  said  to  himself.  "I'll 
*BlackDog'him!" 

But  before  he  could  rise  he  felt  his  arms  pinioned 
from  behind,  and  ere  he  could  make  any  effective  resist- 
ance he  was  thrown  upon  his  back  on  the  floor.  Cleg 
struggled  gallantly,  and  it  might  have  proved  successful- 
ly ;  but  the  face  which  looked  hatefully  into  his  took  from 
him  in  a  moment  all  power  of  resistance. 

It  was  his  father's  face,  livid  with  hate  and  vile  deter- 
mination. Tim  Kelly  coolly  directed  Sal  Kavannah  to  sit 
upon  the  lad's  feet,  while  he  himself  trussed  up  his  hands 
and  arms  as  if  he  had  been  a  fowl  ready  for  the  market. 
Cleg  suffered  all  this  without  showing  the  least  concern. 
He  had  no  hope  of  pity.  But  he  steeled  himself  to  be 
silent,  and  faithful  to  his  benefactor. 

His  father  shut  the  kitchen  door.     Then  he  looked 


FIGHTING  THE  BEASTS.  S6S 

carefully  round  the  brick  house,  and  seemed  infinitely 
relieved  to  find  the  door  into  the  house  unlocked,  as  the 
General  had  left  it  when  he  went  out  for  Cleg  to  follow. 

Presently  Tim  Kelly  came  back  and  kneeled  by  his 
son's  side. 

"  Now,  young  serpent,"  he  said,  "  the  reckoning  day  has 
come  at  long  and  last  'twixt  you  and  me  !  You  have  got 
to  tell  me  where  the  old  chap  keeps  his  keys,  and  that 
mighty  sharp — or  I  will  see  the  colour  of  your  blood,  sor- 
rowful son  o'  mine  though  you  be  ! " 

But  Cleg  maintained  a  steady  silence.  Whereupon  his 
father  set  his  fingers  to  his  throat. 

"  I  know  a  way  to  make  you  speak,"  he  said.  "  Sal, 
take  him  by  the  feet  and  throw  him  over  that  bed." 

Sal  Kavannah  did  as  she  was  bid,  and  between  them 
they  threw  Cleg  across  his  own  bed  with  his  head  hanging 
down  on  the  other  side. 

"  Don't  ye  be  thinking,"  said  his  father,  bending  over 
him,  "  that  because  I  had  the  ill  luck  to  be  father  to  the 
likes  o'  you,  that  will  do  ye  any  good." 

Cleg  still  held  his  peace,  biting  speech  down  with  a 
proud,  masterful  heart.  He  was  resolved  that,  even  if  he 
killed  him,  his  father  should  not  draw  a  single  word  out 
of  him. 

At  that  moment  a  loud  clang  sounded  through  the 
archway  which  led  into  the  dark  house  of  Barnbogle. 
Cleg's  eyes  went  in  spite  of  him  towards  the  door.  He 
knew  that  in  a  moment  more  the  General  would  appear 
in  the  doorway ;  and  he  feared  that  his  father  would 
kill  him  with  the  revolver  which,  when  on  business  er- 
rands, he  always  carried  attached  to  his  waist  by  a  leather 
strap. 

Cleg  started  up  as  far  as  he  could  for  his  bonds  and 
his  father's  fierce  clutch  upon  his  throat. 


364  CLEG   KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

"  General,"  he  cried,  "  run  back  to  the  strong-room — 
back  as  fast  as  you  can  to  the  strong-room  ! " 

Then  Cleg  heard  with  gratitude  the  sound  of  retreat- 
ing footsteps  outside  in  the  passage. 

Timothy  Kelly  rose  from  his  knees  with  an  oath.  He 
felt  that  he  had  been  tricked.  His  revolver  was  in  his 
hand,  and  he  pointed  it  at  his  son's  forehead.  His  fore- 
finger hooked  itself  on  the  trigger.  Cleg  Kelly  instinc- 
tively shut  his  eyes  not  to  see  the  flash.  But  Sal  Kavan- 
nah  jerked  up  her  companion's  arm. 

"  You  waste  time,  man,"  she  said  ;  "  through  the  door 
after  the  old  fellow ! " 

Tim  Kelly  lifted  the  slant-headed  bar  of  iron  which 
he  had  brought  with  him  to  be  inserted,  if  need  were, 
under  the  sashes  of  the  windows ;  and  as  he  ran  out  of 
the  kitchen  he  struck  his  son  heavily  over  the  head  with 
this,  leaving  him  lying  in  his  blood  upon  the  bed. 

Through  the  long,  vaulted  passages  the  villain  ran, 
with  his  accomplice  in  crime  close  upon  his  heels.  The 
door  which  divided  the  little  brick  building  from  the 
main  house  of  Barnbogle  closed  after  them.  Something 
like  a  tall,  flitting  white-robed  figure  seemed  to  keep  a 
little  way  before  them.  They  followed  till  it  vanished 
through  the  open  door  of  the  strong-room.  In  a  moment 
both  Tim  Kelly  and  Sal  Kavannah  darted  in  after  it,  and 
immediately,  with  a  clang  which  resounded  through  the 
whole  house,  the  door  closed  upon  pursuers  and  pursued. 
Then,  through  the  silence  which  ensued,  piercing  even 
the  thick  walls  of  the  old  mansion,  ringing  all  over  the 
country-side,  came  three  loud  screams  of  heart-sickening 
terror.  And  after  that  for  a  space  again  there  fell  silence 
upon  the  strange  house  of  Barnbogle,  with  its  mad  master 
and  its  devilish  visitants  like  wild,  predatory  beasts  of  the 
night.    But  Cleg  Kelly  heard  nothing ;  for  the  blow  from 


FIGHTING  THE  BEASTS.  365 

his  father's  arm  had  left  him,  as  it  proved,  wounded  and 
nigh  unto  death. 

Vara  we  left  panting  along  the  road  upon  her  quest  of 
mercy,  listening  fearfully  for  the  feet  of  the  pursuer.  She 
dared  not  leave  Gavin  behind  her,  but  toiled  under  his 
load  all  the  way — now  stumbling  in  the  darkness  and  now 
falling  headlong.  The  lad  cried  bitterly,  but  Vara  perse- 
vered, for  she  had  the  vision  of  Cleg  before. her,  helpless 
in  the  hands  of  the  cruel  enemies  who  were  also  hers. 

When  she  came  to  the  main  door  of  the  house  of  Barn- 
bogle  she  found  it  barred  and  locked,  while  tlie  gloomy 
front  loomed  above  with  the  windows  like  still  blacker 
gashes  on  its  front.  However,  she  remembered  Cleg's 
description,  and,  taking  Gavin  by  the  hand,  she  ran  as 
swiftly  as  she  could  through  the  dense  coppice  round  to 
the  little  brick  addition. 

She  had  just  reached  the  closed  door  when  the  three 
shrieks  of  terrible  distress  pealed  out  upon  the  night 
silences. 

But  Vara  nerved  herself,  and,  lifting  the  latch,  pushed 
the  kitchen  door  open.  There  across  the  bed,  within 
three  feet  of  her,  lay  Cleg,  bound,  bleeding,  and  insensi- 
ble. Vara  set  down  Gavin,  sprang  towards  Cleg,  and 
took  him  up  in  her  arms.  Hastily  she  unloosed  him 
from  his  bonds,  and  dashed  water  upon  his  face.  But 
his  head  fell  heavily  and  loosely  forward,  and  it  was  with 
a  terrible  sinking  of  the  heart  that  the  thought  Hashed 
upon  her  that  her  friend  was  already  dead.  The  house 
continued  to  resound  with  cries  of  fear,  demoniac  laugh- 
ter, screams  of  ultimate  agony.  At  any  moment  the 
fiends  who  made  them  might  burst  upon  her.  Yet  she 
could  not  leave  Cleg  to  the  mercy  of  the  merciless. 

With  eager  hands  she  tore  the  sheet  from  the  bed, 


366  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

and,  wrapping  him  in  it,  she  lifted  him  in  her  arms  and 
staggered  into  the  night.  Gavin  came  after  her,  speech- 
less with  fear,  clutching  tightly  the  skirts  of  her  dress. 

So,  fainting  and  staggering.  Vara  bore  Cleg  across  the 
marsh  and  up  to  the  little  house  of  Sandyknowes.  She 
was  just  able  to  put  Cleg  Kelly  into  the  arms  of  Mirren 
Douglas  and  sink  fainting  on  the  floor. 

When  she  came  to  herself  Tarn  Fraser  and  the  doctor 
from  Netherby  were  bending  over  her. 

"  What  was  the  maitter — wha  hurt  the  laddie  ?  "  asked 
Tam  Eraser. 

"  The  House !  The  terrible  House  ! "  was  all  that  Vara 
could  say. 

Cleg  Kelly  was  not  dead.  The  doctor  reported  him  to 
be  suffering  from  a  severe  concussion  of  the  brain,  which 
might  probably  prevent  a  return  to  consciousness  for  some 
days. 

A  band  of  men  hastily  equipped  themselves  and  set 
out  for  the  house  of  Barnbogle.  They  stole  up  to  the 
door  of  the  kitchen.  It  stood  open,  as  Vara  had  left  it. 
The  light  streamed  out  upon  the  green  foliage  and  the 
trampled  grass.  But  inside  there  was  only  silence,  and  all 
around  a  wild  scene  of  confusion.  The  skillet  which  Cleg 
had  been  burnishing  lay  upon  the  hearthstone.  There 
was  blood  upon  the  stones  of  the  floor  where  he  had  been 
thrown  down,  and  again  on  the  bed  from  which  Vara 
had  lifted  him.  But  about  all  the  house  there  was  only 
silence. 

The  blacksmith  of  the  nearest  village  brought  a  fore- 
hammer,  and  with  great  difficulty  he  and  his  apprentice 
broke  a  way  into  the  house  itself  through  one  of  the  barred 
upper  windows.  But  the  whole  mansion  within  was  en- 
tirely in  order.  The  iron  fronts  of  the  safes  in  the  hall 
had  not  been  tampered  with.     The  red  iron  door  of  the 


WITHIN  THE  RED  DOOR.  367 

strong-room  in  the  rock  underground  was  close  and  firm — 
far  beyond  the  art  of  ISTetherby  smiths  to  burst  open. 

It  was  considered,  therefore,  that  the  General  must  be 
from  home,  on  one  of  his  ever-recurring  journeys,  and 
that  his  servant  Cleg  had  been  attacked  by  the  ruffians 
who  had  run  off  at  the  sound  of  the  alarm  raised 
by  Vara. 

Yet  it  was  thought  somewhat  strange  that,  as  the  men 
came  back  through  the  empty  house,  they  should  find  an 
iron  crowbar,  stained  with  blood,  lying  at  the  top  of  the 
steps  which  led  to  the  strong-room. 


ADVENTUEE  LVIII. 

WITHIl^   THE   BED    DOOR. 

Cleg  hovered  long  between  life  and  death.  The 
ISTetherby  doctor  made  his  rounds  twice  a  day  in  the 
direction  of  Sandyknowes  in  order  to  watch  the  case. 
Vara  and  Mirren  Douglas  waited  unweariedly  upon  him. 
It  seemed  so  strange  a  thing  to  them  to  see  their  light- 
some, alert  Cleg  thus  lie  senseless,  speechless,  turning  his 
head  only  a  little  from  side  to  side  occasionally,  and  keep- 
ing his  eyes  fixed  steadfastly  upon  the  ceiling. 

After  the  first  night  of  stupor  Cleg  slept  heavily  and 
constantly  for  nearly  ten  days,  without  being  able  either 
to  speak  or  so  much  as  tell  his  own  name. 

The  Xetherby  doctor  raised  each  of  the  patient's  eye- 
lids when  he  came,  but  the  pupil  remained  dull.  Every 
day  the  doctor  would  say,  "  Do  not  be  alarmed.  This  is 
a  well-marked  stage  of  the  trouble,  though  no  doubt  it  is 
in  this  case  somewhat  unduly  prolonged." 


368  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

And  so  it  proved,  for  Cleg  did  not  come  to  himself 
until  twelve  days  after  the  night  when  Vara  found  him 
lying  in  the  brick  addition,  with  the  lamp  lighted  and 
signs  of  hideous  outrage  all  about  him  on  the  floor.  A 
watch  had  been  kept  all  the  time  by  the  county  authori- 
ties upon  Barnbogle  House,  and  every  possible  attempt 
had  been  made  to  communicate  with  the  owner.  All 
places  which  he  was  known  to  visit  had  been  watched. 

The  steamers  on  the  Caledonian  Canal,  the  ferries  to 
the  Island  of  Arran,  the  passenger  boats  to  Orkney  and 
Shetland  had  been  carefully  examined ;  but  so  far  it  was 
all  in  vain.  No  one  answering  to  the  description  of  Gen- 
eral Theophilus  Kuff  could  anywhere  be  found.  Yet  there 
was  nothing  remarkable  in  this.  For  the  mad  General 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  going  off  suddenly  on  tours  by 
himself,  by  rail  and  steamboat,  without  consulting  any 
one.  Upon  his  travels  by  sea  he  had  been  distinguished 
by  his  habit  of  taking  the  officers  under  his  protection, 
and  offering  them  advice  upon  the  subject  of  their  profes- 
sion, especially  as  to  the  proper  way  to  handle  a  ship — 
advice  which,  strangely  enough,  was  not  always  received 
in  good  part. 

But  the  mad  soldier  could  nowhere  be  found.  His 
lawyers  continued  the  search  in  other  directions.  They 
came  to  ISTetherby,  and  made  very  particular  inquiries  as 
to  the  doings  of  Cleg  during  the  day  which  had  ended  so 
disastrously.  Now  it  chanced  that,  even  while  Cleg  him- 
self lay  unconscious  upon  the  bed  at  Sandyknowes.  every 
hour  of  his  day  could  be  accounted  for ;  that  is,  up  to  the 
moment  when  he  had  gone  home  to  prepare  supper  for  his 
master.  The  General  had  ordered  a  new  fence  of  barbed 
wire  to  be  erected  by  the  side  of  the  railway,  and  Cleg  had 
been  out  all  the  forenoon  superintending  its  erection,  after 
having  been  sent  to  Netherby  by  the  General.     He  had 


WITHIN  THE  RED  DOOR.  359 

been  engaged  in  whitewashing  the  office-houses  at  Sandy- 
knowes  in  the  afternoon. 

So  close  was  the  inquiry,  that  the  chief  of  the  Nether- 
by  police  asked  more  than  once  of  the  detective  employed 
by  General  Ruff's  lawyers  if  he  had  any  cause  for  sus- 
picion against  the  young  man  Kelly. 

"  Kone  whatever,"  said  the  detective,  "  so  far  as  I  know. 
But  I  understand  that  important  testamentary  dispositions 
will  affect  the  young  man — that  is,  if  he  gets  better  and 
the  General  does  not  turn  up." 

Cleg  did  get  better,  but  not  suddenly  or  indeed 
speedily. 

One  morning,  when  the  doctor  came  from  Ketherby, 
Cleg  of  his  own  accord  twitched  an  eyelid  up  and  glanced 
at  him. 

" Doctor  Sidey ! "  he  said  feebly,  " have  I  been  ill?" 

Without  answering,  the  doctor  took  his  hand  and  bent 
over  him. 

His  breathing  was  weak  and  irregular,  but  still  per- 
ceptibly stronger. 

"  He'll  do ! "  said  Doctor  Sidey  of  Netherby  to  Mirren 
Douglas,  "  but,  mind  you,  he  is  to  be  asked  no  questions 
till  I  can  ask  them  myself." 

So  for  nearly  a  week  more  Cleg  lay  in  the  dusky  room, 
with  the  bees  humming  drowsily  outside  the  wall  on  sunny 
days,  and  the  sounds  of  the  little  farmyard  of  Sandy- 
knowes  coming  to  him  softened  by  distance.  Vara  looked 
in  many  times  a  day,  as  she  passed  the  window  to  bring 
home  the  cows,  or  going  with  a  can  to  the  well;  and 
always  at  sight  of  her  Cleg  smiled  happily. 

Or  Mirren  came  in  from  the  kitchen,  drying  her  hands 
on  her  apron,  and  Cleg  smiled  again.  Then  Vara  brought 
l\im  his  low  diet  of  milk  and  cornflour.  But  she  did  not 
speak  to  him.     He  looked  at  her  in  a  manner  so  pathetic 


370  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

in  its  weakness  that  Mirren  Douglas  had  often,  perforce, 
to  go  into  a  corner  and  dry  her  eyes  with  her  apron. 

"  He  used  to  be  so  strong  and  cheery ! "  she  said,  as  if 
explaining  the  matter  to  the  world  in  general. 

Then  Vara  would  briskly  leave  the  room  to  bid  Boy 
Hugh  hush  his  noisy  calls  to  the  chickens  outside.  Where- 
at Cleg  Kelly  would  shake  his  head ;  but  whether  because 
Vara  had  left  the  room,  or  because  he  liked  the  simple, 
cheerful  sounds  of  the  yard  coming  into  his  chamber, 
Mirren  Douglas  did  not  know. 

It  was  a  clear  morning,  about  seven  o'clock,  when  Cleg 
came  fully  to  himself.  The  trees  upon  the  slope  opposite 
stood  black  and  hard  against  a  pale  green  midwinter  sky. 
Cleg  watched  the  light  grow  clearer  behind  them  as  a 
chill  wind  from  the  south  swayed  the  branches  away  from 
him.  He  had  a  delicious  sense  of  reposefulness  and  phys- 
ical well-being.  But  this  was  suddenly  crossed  and  oblit- 
erated by  the  thought  which  came  to  him  that  he  had  lost 
his  place.  How  long  had  he  been  lying  here  ?  He  could 
not  remember.  His  master — where  was  he  ?  That  hide- 
ous vision  of  his  old  life  which  swept  over  him  like  a  very 
eruption  of  devildom — was  it  a  dream,  or  a  reality  ? 

"  The  doctor !  the  doctor ! "  cried  Cleg ;  "  send  for  him 
quickly.     I  have  something  I  must  tell  him." 

And  Vara  sped  obediently  away,  putting  forth  all  the 
strength  in  her  lithe  young  limbs  to  bring  Doctor  Sidey 
to  Cleg  Kelly  as  quickly  as  possible. 

When  he  came  in  he  looked  at  Cleg  quickly. 

"  Worse  ?  "  he  queried,  half  to  the  patient  and  half  to 
Mirren  Douglas,  who  stood  by  with  folded  hands. 

"No,"  said  Cleg,  "not  worse,  doctor.  But  I  have 
something  to  tell  you  which  cannot  wait." 

The  doctor  motioned  Vara  and  Mirren  out  of  the 
room.     And  then,  in  hurried,  breathless  sentences.  Cleg 


WITHIN  THE  IlED   DOOR.  371 

told  the  doctor  of  all  that  had  taken  place  on  the  night 
of  the  attack.  He  still  thought  that  it  had  been  just  the 
night  before,  and  the  doctor  did  not  undeceive  him. 

"  And  the  robbers  are  still  in  the  house  wi'  my  maister," 
Cleg  asserted.  "  I  think  he  is  shut  up  in  the  strong-room. 
If  he  doesna  come  oot  soon  the  room  must  be  forced.  But 
he  never  stays  in  it  more  than  a  night  at  a  time,  so  he  is 
sure  to  come  oot  in  the  mornin'." 

"What  did  you  say?"  cried  the  doctor,  surprised  out 
of  himself.  "General  Eulf  in  the  strong-room — two 
robbers  with  him  in  the  house!  Why,  it  is  plainly 
impossible  —  it  is  three  weeks  on  Tuesday  since  you 
were  hurt." 

"  The  General  was  in  the  house  when  I  was  attacked," 
repeated  Cleg.  "  I  heard  him  go  into  the  strong-room 
and  shut  the  door." 

The  doctor  went  into  Xetherby  and  telegraphed  to  the 
General's  lawyers,  who  lived  in  the  larger  town  of  Drum- 
nith.  The  two  heads  of  the  firm  arrived  by  the  next 
train,  and,  as  a  result  of  a  conference  with  the  doctor  and 
Cleg,  an  urgent  message  was  sent  to  the  great  firm  of  safe 
and  strong-room  makers  who  had  engineered  the  safety 
appliances,  to  come  and  open  the  room  in  which  lay  the 
most  hidden  treasures  of  General  Theophilus  Euff. 

In  response  to  this  urgent  application  three  skilled 
mechanicians  came  down  that  same  night,  and  by  five  in 
the  morning  they  stood  ready  to  break  in  the  door.  The 
foreman  of  Messrs.  Cox  &  Eoskell's  declared  that  no 
power  existed  by  which,  in  the  absence  of  the  keys  and 
the  knowledge  of  the  time  and  word  combinations,  the 
lock  could  be  opened  without  violence. 

But  the  lawyers  promptly  decided  that  at  all  hazards 
the  room  must  be  reached.  So,  very  philosophically,  the 
foreman  proceeded  to  demolish  the  work  of  his  own  hands 


372  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

and  brain — the  preparation  and  fitting  of  which  had  cost 
him  so  many  weeks. 

He  inserted  two  dynamite  cartridges  on  either  side  of 
the  red  iron  door,  boring  holes  for  their  reception  in  the 
rock  itself,  so  that  the  frame  might  be  started  bodily  from 
its  bed.  Then  he  placed  other  two  under  the  step  which 
led  to  the  room.  There  were  present  only  the  three  arti- 
sans, the  two  lawyers  from  Drumnith  of  the  firm  of 
Ilewitson  &  Graham,  together  with  Doctor  Sidey,  who 
had  constituted  himself  Cleg's  representative,  and  had 
insisted  either  on  having  the  regular  police  called  in  or 
upon  being  present  himself. 

These  six  men  stood  far  back  from  the  house  while 
the  dynamite  was  exploded.  The  foreman  timed  the  fuse 
with  his  watch.  Presently  there  came  a  little  jar  of  the 
earth,  as  if  a  railway  train  were  passing  underneath.  But 
the  great  bulk  of  the  building  stood  firm.  The  lawyers 
and  the  doctor  were  eager  to  run  forward.  But  the  fore- 
man held  them  back  till  the  fumes  had  had  time  to  clear 
out  of  the  stone  narrow  passages  and  to  dissipate  them- 
selves through  the  glassless  windows. 

Then  tliey  went  below,  each  carrying  a  lantern.  The 
doctor  had  in  his  pocket  also  a  case  of  surgical  instru- 
ments and  the  strongest  restoratives  known  to  his  art. 

When  they  arrived  in  the  passage  they  found  the 
mighty  iron  door  fallen  outward,  frame  and  all.  It  lay 
with  the  time  lock  and  the  letter  attachment  still  in  their 
places,  leaving  a  black,  cavernous  opening,  into  which  the 
light  of  the  bull's-eye  lanterns  refused  to  penetrate. 

The  foreman  stooped  as  he  came  up. 

"  It's  not  a  pennypiece  the  worse,"  he  said,  examining 
the  fallen  door  with  professional  solicitude. 

But  the  doctor  pushed  him  aside  and  entered.  As  he 
shed  the  light  of  his  lantern  around  he  gasped  like  a  man 


WITHIN  THE  RED   DOOR.  373 

in  extremity,  for  surely  a  stranger  or  a  more  terrible  sight 
the  eyes  of  man  had  never  looked  upon. 

Two  dark  forms,  those  of  a  man  and  a  woman,  were  '■ 
upon  the  floor,  the  man  prone  on  his  face  with  his  hands 
stretched  out  before  him,  the  woman  crouched  far  back  in 
the  corner  with  her  mouth  wide  open  and  her  eyes  start- 
ing from  her  head  with  absolute  and  ghastly  terror.  Yet 
both  eyes  and  mouth  were  obviously  those  of  a  corpse.  In 
the  centre  of  the  room  were  three  coffins  laid  upon  narrow 
tables,  the  same  that  Cleg  had  so  often  seen.  But  now 
they  were  all  three  open,  and  in  each  reclined  a  figure 
arrayed  in  white,  with  the  head  raised  on  a  level  with  the 
coffin  lid. 

In  the  coffin  in  the  centre  lay  General  Theophilus 
Ruff,  with  an  expression  of  absolute  triumph  on  his  face. 
He  appeared  to  lean  forward  a  little  towards  the  woman 
in  the  corner,  and  his  dead  wide-open  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  her.  An  empty  opium  box  lay  by  his  side.  A  re- 
volver lay  across  his  knees,  evidently  fallen  from  his  right 
hand,  which  hung  over  the  coffin  edge.  His  Oriental 
pipe  stood  on  the  floor,  and  the  amber  mouthpiece  was 
still  between  his  lips. 

But  the  other  two  coffins  contained  the  strangest  part 
of  the  contents  of  this  room  of  horrors.  To  the  right  of 
the  General  lay  the  perfectly  preserved  body  of  a  woman, 
whose  regular  features  and  delicate  skin  had  only  been 
slightly  marred  at  the  nostrils  by  the  process  of  embalm- 
ing. She  was  dressed  in  white,  and  her  hands  were 
crossed  upon  her  bosom.  A  man,  young  and  noble-look- 
ing, lay  in  the  same  position  in  the  other  coffin  upon  the 
General's  left. 

But  the  most  wonderful  thing  was  that  the  necks  of 
both  the  man  and  the  woman  were  bound  about  with  a 
red  cord  drawn  very  tight  midway  between  the  chin  and 


374  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OP  THE  CITY. 

the  shoulder.     Upon  the  breast  of  the  man  on  the  left 
were  written  in  red  the  words : 

"  False  Fkiend." 

And  on  the  breast  of  the  fair  woman  upon  the  right  the 
words : 

"  False  Love." 

A  row  of  tall  candlesticks  stood  round  the  coffins,  six 
on  either  side.  The  great  ceremonial  candles  which  they 
had  once  contained  had  burned  down  to  the  sockets  and 
guttered  over  the  tops.  The  floor  was  strewn  with  the 
contents  of  drawers  and  papers,  and  with  dainty  articles 
of  female  attire.  A  small  glove  of  French  make  lay  at 
the  doctor's  feet. 

He  lifted  it  and  put  it  into  his  pocket  mechanically, 
before  turning  his  attention  to  the  bodies  in  this  iron 
charnel-house.  They  were,  of  course,  all  long  since  dead. 
The  weasel-faced  man  on  the  floor  had  a  bullet  through 
the  centre  of  his  forehead.  The  woman  in  the  corner,  on 
the  other  hand,  was  wholly  untouched  by  any  wound  ;  but 
from  the  expression  on  her  face  she  must  have  died  in 
the  most  instant  and  mortal  terror. 

When  the  first  wild  astonishment  of  the  searchers  had 
abated  a  little,  the  lawyers  ordered  the  men  from  Messrs. 
Cox  &  Koskell's  to  open  the  various  receptacles  in  the 
strong-room.  Strangely  enough,  nothing  whatever  was 
found  in  them,  excepting  some  articles  of  jewelry  and  a 
packet  of  letters  in  a  woman's  hand,  which  the  lawyers 
took  possession  of.  The  three  confidential  artificers  from 
London  remained  in  charge  till  measures  should  be  taken 
to  clear  out  the  strong-room. 

The  doctor  examined  Cleg  with  care  and  tact,  for  it 
was  to  him  that  the  lawyers  looked  for  the  explanation  of 


WITHIN  THE   RED  DOOR.  375 

the  mystery.  But  first  they  provided  the  mechanicians 
with  very  substantial  reasons  for  secrecy,  if  they  would 
give  their  services  to  prevent  a  scandal  in  these  very  re- 
markable family  circumstances.  The  men,  accustomed  to 
secrecy,  and  recognising  the  future  and  personal  applica- 
tion of  the  lawyers'  logic,  readily  promised. 

So  far  as  the  doctor  could  make  out,  this  was  what 
had  happened.  Cleg  told  the  truth  fully,  but  he  made  no 
discovery  of  the  relationship  in  which  he  stood  to  the  man 
who  had  so  murderously  attacked  him.  Nor  yet  did  he 
say  anything  of  his  knowledge  of  Sal  Kavannah's  identity. 
After  a  little  study  and  piecing  of  evidence,  however,  the 
process  of  events  seemed  fairly  clear. 

When  Cleg  first  sent  his  warning  cry  through  the 
house,  the  General  had  doubtless  been  engaged  in  arrang- 
ing for  his  expected  departure  out  of  the  life  which  had 
brought  so  little  happiness  to  him.  For,  like  an  Oriental, 
he  knew,  or  supposed  that  he  knew,  the  exact  moment  of 
his  death — though,  as  we  now  know,  his  first  impression 
had  proved  erroneous. 

For  some  unknown  purpose  he  had  left  the  strong- 
room and  hastened  through  the  passages  till  he  had  heard 
the  hideous  uproar  in  the  kitchen,  whereupon  he  had 
promptly  retreated  to  the  strong-room,  in  all  probability 
to  get  his  revolver.  While  there  a  mad  idea  had  crossed 
his  mind  to  receive  his  visitors  in  his  coffin.  At  any  rate, 
upon  entering  he  left  the  red  door  open  behind  him.  A 
few  moments  later  Tim  Kelly  came  rushing  in  hot  upon 
the  trail,  followed  by  the  woman  Kavannah.  His  hands 
were  wet  and  red  with  his  son's  blood.  His  heart  was 
ripe  for  murder.  And  this  was  the  sight  which  met 
him — a  room  with  open  coffins  in  a  row  and  three 
dead  folk  laid  upon  them,  six  great  candles  burning 
upon  either  side — all  the  horrors  of  a  tomb  in  the  place 


376  CLEG   KELLY,  ARAB   OP  THE  CITY. 

where  he  had  counted  to  lay  his  hand  upon  uncounted 
treasure. 

Then,  while  Timothy  Kelly  and  Sal  Kavannah  stood 
a  moment  looking  with  fearful  eyes  on  the  tall  ceremonial 
candles,  which  must  have  been  specially  ghastly  to  them 
on  account  of  their  race,  the  strong  door  swung  noiselessly 
to  upon  its  hinges ;  for  the  water  balance  had  filled  up, 
and  they  found  themselves  trapped. 

What  happened  after  this  was  not  so  clear.  Probably 
the  robber  was  proceeding  in  his  desperation  to  rifle  the 
open  depositories  of  the  letters  and  gear,  which  the 
searchers  found  strewed  up  and  down  the  floor,  when 
Theophilus  Euff  sat  up  suddenly  in  the  centre  coffin,  with 
his  revolver  in  his  hand,  just  as  Cleg  had  seen  him  the 
first  time  he  entered  the  chamber  of  death.  Whether  the 
ruffian  had  first  attacked  the  madman,  or  whether  he  had 
simply  been  shot  down  where  he  stood,  will  never  be 
known.  But  certain  it  is  that  he  died  instantly,  and  that 
the  horror  of  the  sight  killed  Sal  Kavannah  where  she 
sat  crouched  low  in  the  corner,  as  if  trying  to  get  as  far  as 
possible  from  the  grisly  horrors  of  the  three  coffins. 

Then,  having  done  his  work,  Theophilus  Euff  calmly 
swallowed  all  that  remained  of  his  drugs,  and  slept  him- 
self into  the  land  where  vengeance  is  not,  with  the  mouth- 
piece of  his  pipe  in  his  mouth  and  his  revolver  upon  his 
knees. 

The  heads  of  the  embalmed  bodies  were  turned  so  that 
they  looked  towards  Theophilus  Euff  as  he  sat  in  his 
coffin.  For  twenty  years  it  is  probable  that  he  had  gone 
to  sleep  every  night  with  those  dead  faces  looking 
at  him. 

The  coffins  were  buried  as  privately  as  possible,  the 
two  embalmed  bodies  being  laid  within  the  private  mauso- 
leum at  the  foot  of  the  garden ;    for  in  noble  families 


THE  BEECH  HEDGE.  377 

a  private  burying-place  is  a  great  convenience  in  such, 
emergencies.  Here  also  Tim  Kelly  and  Sal  Kavannah 
took  their  places  with  nobler  sinners,  and  no  doubt  they 
lie  there  still,  mixing  their  vulgar  earth  with  finer  clay, 
and  so  will  remain  until  the  final  resurrection  of  good 
and  evil. 

Doctor  Sidey  certified  truthfully  that  the  death  of 
General  Theophilus  KufE  was  due  to  an  overdose  of  opium. 
And  as  there  is  no  coroner's  inquest  in  Scotland  (another 
convenience),  matters  were  easily  arranged  with  the  Proc- 
urator-Fiscal of  the  county — who  was,  in  fact,  a  friend  of 
the  distinguished  and  discreet  firm  of  Hewitson  &  Graham 
at  Drumnith. 


ADVEISTTUEE   LIX. 

THE   BEECH   HEDGE. 

"Ai^D  the  queer  thing  o'  it  a'  is,"  said  Cleg,  "that 
there's  no  as  muckle  as  a  brass  farthin's  worth  o'  lyin' 
siller  to  be  found." 

"  Ye  tak'  it  brave  and  cool,  my  man,"  said  Mistress 
Fraser.  "  My  certes,  gin  I  had  been  left  thirty  thoosand 
pound,  and  then  could  find  nane  o't,  I  wad  be  fair  oot  o' 
my  mind  wi'  envy  and  spite.  Save  us  a',  man.  Ye  hae 
nae  spunk  in  ye  ava." 

"And  what  a  wonderfu'  thing  is  it,"  said  Mirren 
Douglas,  "  that  Maister  Iverach,  the  young  lad  f rae  Edin- 
burgh, gets  a'  the  land  and  the  hooses,  but  no  a  penny 
f orbye ! " 

They  were  sitting — a  large  company  for  so  small  a 
place — in  the  little  ben  room  of  Sandyknowes,  with  the 
roses  again  looking  in  the  window.  For  another  spring 
25 


378  CLEG   KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

had  come,  and  a  new  year  was  already  stretching  itself 
awake  from  its  winter  swaddling  bands. 

*'  What  was  it  that  the  lawyer  man  wrote  aboot  your 
bequest  ?  "  asked  Mistress  Fraser. 

"  But  a'  my  lying  money  in  the  house  o'  Barnbogle 
and  about  the  precincts  thereof,  to  be  the  property  of 
Cleg  Kelly,  my  present  body  servant,  in  regard  of  his 
faithful  tendance  and  unselfishness  during  the  past  four 
years,"  quoted  Cleg,  leaning  his  head  back  with  the  air  of 
a  languid  prince.  He  was  sitting  on  the  great  chest  in 
which  Mirren  kept  all  the  best  of  her  napery  and  house- 
hold linen. 

"  My  certes,  ye  tak'  it  braw  and  canny,"  repeated  Mis- 
tress Eraser.     "  What  says  Vara  to  a'  this  ?  " 

Vara  came  out  from  the  little  inner  room  where  she 
had  been  dressing  for  the  afternoon. 

"  What  says  Vara  ? "  said  Mistress  Eraser,  looking  a 
little  curiously  at  the  girl  as  she  entered.  Half-a-year  of 
absolute  freedom  from  care  and  anxiety  in  the  clear  air  of 
Sandyknowes  had  brought  the  fire  to  her  eye  and  the 
rose  to  her  cheek. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  soberly,  "  that  Cleg  will  find  the 
siller  yet.  Or,  if  he  doesn't,  he  will  be  able  to  do  with- 
ootit!" 

"  It  will  make  an  awfu'  difference  to  his  plenishing 
when  he  comes  to  set  up  a  hoose,"  said  the  mother  of 
eleven ;  "  there's  naebody  in  the  world  kens  what  it  tak's 
to  furnish  a  hoose,  but  them  that  has  begun  wi'  naething 
and  leeved  through  it !  " 

"  Mr.  Iverach  is  comin'  frae  Edinburgh  the  day,"  said 
Cleg, "  to  see  aboot  knockin'  doon  the  auld  hoose  o'  Barn- 
bogle." 

"  He's  no  willing  to  bide  in  it,"  said  Mirren  Douglas. 
"  Lod,  I  dinna  wonder.     Wha  could  bide  in  a  place  wi* 


THE  BEECH  HEDGE.  379 

siccan  a  chamber  0'  horrors  doon  the  cellar  stairs  as  that 


was 


t» 


Which  showed  that  some  one  must  have  been  telling 
tales. 

"  I'm  to  gang  and  meet  him,"  said  Cleg.  "  Vara,  will 
ye  come  ?  Ye  may  chance  to  forgather  wi'  a  friend  that 
ye  ken." 

Vara  Kavannah  nodded  brightly,  and  glanced  at  the 
widow  Douglas. 

"  If  Mirren  will  gie  a  look  to  the  bairns,"  she  said. 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  noisy  rush  past  the  win- 
dow, and  certain  ferocious  yells  came  in  at  the  door. 

"  Preserve  me,"  said  Mistress  Eraser,  "  thae  bairns  are 
never  hame  frae  the  schule  already !  Faith,  I  maun  awa' 
hame,  or  my  evil  loons  and  limmers  will  no  leave  a  bite  o' 
bread  uneaten,  or  a  dish  0'  last  year's  jam  unsupped  in  a' 
my  hoose ! " 

But  as  she  rose  to  go  her  husband's  form  darkened  the 
doorway. 

"  Tam  Eraser,"  she  cried,  "  what  are  ye  doing  there  ? 
Are  ye  no  awa'  at  Auld  Graham's  funeral?  A  lawyer 
deid !     The  deil  will  dee  next." 

"  I  hae  nae  blacks  guid  enough  to  gang  in,"  said  Tam 
Fraser ;  "  ye  spend  a'  my  leevin'  on  thae  bairns  0'  yours." 

"  Hoot,  man,"  retorted  his  wife,  "  gang  as  ye  are,  an' 
tak'  your  character  on  your  back,  and  ye'll  be  black 
eneuch  for  ony  funeral." 

Tam  Fraser  stood  a  moment  prospecting  in  his  mind 
for  a  suitable  reply. 

"  Meg,"  he  said  at  last,  "  dinna  learn  to  be  ill-tongued. 
It  doesna  become  ye.  D'ye  ken,  I  was  juist  thinkin'  as  I 
cam'  in  that  ye  grow  younger  every  year.  Ye  are  looking 
fell  bonny  the  day ! " 

"  Faith,"  said  his  wife  sharply,  "  I  am  vexed  I  canna 


380  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

return  the  compliment.  Ye  are  lookin'  juist  like  a  craw- 
bogle,  and  that's  a  Guid's  truth." 

"  Aweel,  guidwif e,"  said  Tarn,  seeing  a  chance  now  to 
get  in  his  counter,  "  if  ye  had  only  been  ceevil  eneuch,  ye 
micht  e'en  hae  telled  a  lee  as  weel  as  mysel' ! " 

And  with  this  he  betook  himself  over  the  dyke,  leav- 
ing his  wife  for  once  without  a  shot  in  her  locker. 

Vara  had  gone  quietly  at  Cleg's  bidding  and  put  on 
her  hat.  This  demurely  sober  lass  had  quite  enough  of 
beauty  to  make  the  country  lads  hang  a  foot,  and  look 
after  her  with  a  desire  to  speak  as  she  passed  by  on  her 
way  to  kirk  and  market. 

Vara  and  Cleg  walked  quietly  along  down  the  avenue 
by  the  shortest  road  to  the  house  of  Barnbogle. 

"  Vara,"  said  Cleg,  "  I  think  we  will  do  very  well  this 
year  with  the  flooers  and  the  bees — forbye  the  milk." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  for  Mirren's  sake,"  answered 
Vara,  without,  however,  letting  her  eyes  rest  on  the  lad. 

"  I  selled  baith  my  barrels  o'  milk  and  the  ten  pund  o' 
butter  forbye  this  morning,  a'  in  the  inside  o'  an  hour," 
said  Cleg. 

For  during  the  last  half  year  Cleg  had  been  farming 
the  produce  of  Mirren's  little  holding  with  notable  suc- 
cess. 

"  Vara,"  said  Cleg,  in  a  shy,  hesitating  manner,  "  in  a 
year  or  twa  I  micht  be  able  to  tak'  in  the  Springfield  as 
weel.  Do  ye  think  that  ye  could" — Cleg  paused  for  a 
word  dry  enough  to  express  his  meaning — "  come  ower 
by  and  help  me  to  tak'  care  o't  ?  I  hae  aye  likit  ye.  Vara, 
ye  ken." 

"I  dinna  ken,  I'm  sure,  Cleg,"  said  Vara  soberly; 
"  there's  the  bairns,  ye  ken,  Hugh  and  Gavin." 

"Bring  them  too,  of  course,"  said  Cleg.  "I  never 
thocht  o'  onything  else." 


THE  BEECH  HEDGE.  381 

"  But  then  there's  Mirren,  and  she  wad  fair  break  her 
heart,"  protested  Vara. 

"  Bring  her  too  ! "  said  Cleg  practically. 

He  had  thought  the  whole  subject  over.  They  were 
now  coming  near  the  old  house  of  Barnbogle,  which  its 
new  owner  had  doomed  to  destruction.  Cleg  glanced  up 
at  the  tall  grey  mass  of  it. 

"I'm  some  dootfu'  that  we  will  never  touch  that 
siller,"  he  said. 

"  Then,"  said  Vara  firmly,  "  we  can  work  for  mair.  If 
we  dinna  get  it,  it's  a  sign  that  we  are  better  wantin'  it." 

She  glanced  at  the  youth  by  her  side  as  she  spoke. 

"Vara,"  said  Cleg  quickly,  "ye  are  awesome  bonny 
when  ye  speak  like  that." 

Perhaps  he  remembered  Tam  Eraser,  for  he  said  no 
more. 

Vara  walked  on  with  her  eyes  still  demurely  on  the 
ground.  They  were  just  where  the  high  path  looks  down 
on  the  corner  of  the  ancient  orchard. 

"  Vara,"  said  Cleg,  "  what's  your  hurry  for  a  minute  ? 
There's — there's  a  terrible  bonny  view  frae  hereaboots." 

Cleg,  the  uninstructed,  was  plunging  into  deep  waters. 
Vara  turned  towards  the  garden  beneath  at  his  word. 
There  were  three  people  to  be  seen  in  it.  First  there  was 
a  young  woman  in  a  bright  summer  dress,  with  a  young 
man  who  walked  very  close  beside  her.  Over  a  thick  wall 
of  beech,  which  went  half  across  the  orchard,  an  older 
man  was  standing  meditatively  with  his  hands  clasped 
behind  his  back.  He  was  apparently  engaged  in  trying 
how  much  tobacco  smoke  he  could  put  upon  the  market 
in  a  given  time,  for  he  was  almost  completely  lost  from 
sight  in  a  blue  haze. 

The  young  people  walked  up  and  down,  now  in  view  of 
their  meditative  elder  and  now  hidden  from  him  bv  the 


382  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

hedge.  And  as  Cleg  and  Vara  watched,  they  noticed  a 
wonderful  circumstance.  As  often  as  the  young  man  and 
his  companion  were  behind  the  young  beech  hedge,  his 
arm  stole  round  the  waist  of  the  summer  dress ;  but  so 
soon  as  they  emerged  upon  the  gravel  path,  lo !  they  were 
again  walking  demurely  at  least  a  yard  apart. 

The  strangest  thing  about  it  all  was,  that  the  young 
woman  appeared  to  be  entirely  unconscious  of  the  cir- 
cumstance. 

"  That's  an  awesome  nice  view,"  said  Cleg,  when  the 
pair  beneath  had  done  this  four  or  five  times.  And  such 
is  the  fatal  force  of  example  that  he  put  his  own  arm 
about  Vara's  waist  each  time  the  young  man  in  the  or- 
chard below  showed  him  how.  And  yet,  stranger  than 
all,  Vara  also  appeared  to  be  entirely  unconscious  of 
the  fact. 

This  went  on  till  the  pair  beneath  were  at  their  tenth 
promenade — the  elderly  man  over  the  beech  hedge  was 
still  studying  intently  an  overgrown  bed  of  rhubarb — 
when,  at  the  innermost  corner,  the  young  lady  in  the 
summer  dress  paused  to  pluck  a  spray  of  honeysuckle. 
The  youth's  arm  was  about  her  waist  at  the  moment. 
Perhaps  it  was  that  she  had  become  conscious  of  it  for 
the  first  time,  or  perhaps  because  it  cinctured  the  summer 
dress  a  little  more  tightly  than  the  circumstances  abso- 
lutely demanded.  However  this  may  be,  certain  it  is  that 
the  girl  turned  her  head  a  little  back  over  her  shoulder, 
perhaps  to  reproach  the  young  man,  to  request  him  to  re- 
move his  property,  and  in  the  future  to  keep  it  from  tres- 
passing on  his  neighbour's  premises.  Cleg  and  Vara 
could  not  tell  from  the  distance.  But,  at  any  rate,  the 
young  man  and  the  young  woman  stood  thus  a  long  mo- 
ment, she  looking  up  with  her  head  turned  a  little  back 
and  he  looking  intently  down  into  her  eyes.     Then  their 


CLEG'S  TREASURE-TROVE  COMES  TO  HIM.     383 

lips  drew  together,  and  softly,  as  if  they  sighed,  rested  a 
moment  upon  each  other. 

"  It's  an  awesome  nice  view,"  said  Cleg,  with  conviction 
and  emphasis.     And  forthwith  did  likewise. 

The  old  man  with  his  hands  behind  his  back  had  a 
little  while  before  ceased  his  meditations  upon  the  rhubarb 
leaves,  and  had  walked  quietly  all  unperceived  to  the  corner 
of  the  beech  hedge.  Here  he  stood  looking  down  towards 
the  corner  of  the  orchard,  where  the  summer  dress  was 
plainly  in  view.  Then  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  road 
above,  where  stood  Vara  and  Cleg  Kelly.  His  pipe  fell 
from  his  mouth  with  astonishment,  but  he  did  not  stop 
to  pick  it  up.  He  turned  and  stole  hastily  away  on 
tiptoe. 

Then  he  too  sighed,  and  that  more  than  once,  as  soon 
as  he  had  got  out  of  the  orchard  into  the  garden. 

"  It's  just  thirty  years  since — last  July,"  he  said. 

And  Mr.  Eobert  Greg  Tennant  remained  longer  in 
meditation  than  ever,  this  time  upon  a  spindling  rose 
which  was  drooping  for  want  of  water. 


ADVENTUEE   LX. 

cleg's  treasuke-troye  comes  to  him. 

Preseis'TLY  Cleg  and  Vara  walked  down,  and  when 
they  came  into  the  garden  they  found  Miss  Celie  Tennant 
in  animated  conversation  with  her  father.  She  was  cling- 
ing very  close  to  his  arm,  as  though  she  never  could  be 
induced  upon  any  pretext  to  leave  it  for  a  moment.  The 
old  man  was  smiling  somewhat  grimly.  And  Vara  thought 
what  a  little  hypocrite  Celie  was.     The  Junior  Partner 


384  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

was  much  interested  in  a  curious  pattern  of  coloured 
stones,  which  the  General  had  arranged  with  his  own 
hand  about  a  toy  fountain.  Five  more  innocent  and  un- 
concerned people  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  meet 
with  in  broad  Scotland. 

But  when  Cleg  Kelly  was  introduced  to  Mr.  Eobert 
Greg  Tennant,  he  was  astonished  to  notice  an  unmistak- 
able air  of  knowledge  in  that  gentleman's  face.  Indeed, 
something  that  was  not  far  from  a  wink  wrinkled  his  cheek. 
The  original  Cleg  rose  triumphant — and  he  winked  back. 

Then  Mr.  Greg  Tennant  put  his  hands  into  his  pock- 
ets, and  strolled  off  whistling  a  refrain  which  was  popular 
at  that  remote  date — 

"  I  saw  Esau  kissing  Kate, 
And  he  saw  I  saw  Esau !  " 

Cleg  went  away  with  the  Junior  Partner  to  take 
another  look  at  the  whole  house,  which  was  now  wholly 
dismantled  and  about  to  be  pulled  down  to  the  founda- 
tions. The  Junior  Partner,  who  was  henceforward  to  be 
a  sleeping  partner  only,  intended  to  build  a  mansion  on 
another  part  of  the  property,  so  that  all  memory  of  the 
horrors  which  had  been  contained  within  the  Eed  Door 
was  to  be  blotted  out. 

"  And  the  sooner  the  better,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Tennant, 
grimly.     He  had  just  joined  them. 

"  When  I  have  money  enough ! "  stammered  the  Junior 
Partner,  not  sure  of  his  meaning. 

He  looked  about  him.  Cleg  was  still  exploring  far 
ahead  in  the  ruined  tower,  from  the  windows  of  which 
the  frames  and  bars  had  been  already  removed. 

"  I  was  going  to  speak  to  you,  sir,"  said  the  Junior 
Partner,  "  but  the  fact  is,  sir,  till  to-day  I  have  had  no 
permission  and  no  right." 


CLEG'S  TREASUKE-TROVE  COMES  TO  HIM.     385 

The  elder  man  clapped  the  younger  upon  the  back. 

"  All  right,"  he  said  heartily ;  "  I  have  been  behind 
beech  hedges  myself  in  my  time.  But  I  must  say,"  he 
went  on,  "  that  I  generally  kept  a  better  watch  on  the  old 
man!" 

The  Junior  Partner  blushed  red  as  a  rose — a  peony 
rose. 

"  And  if  that  is  your  meaning,"  continued  Mr.  Ten- 
nant,  "  why,  get  the  house  built.  I  daresay  there's  tocher 
enough  to  go  with  my  little  lass  to  pay  for  the  stone  and 
lime." 

At  this  moment  a  whirlwind  of  primrose-coloured 
summer  lawn,  twinkling  black  stockings,  and  silver- 
buckled  shoes  fell  upon  the  two  of  them,  and  reduced 
the  Junior  Partner  to  a  state  of  smiling,  vacuous 
inanity. 

"  Come,  come  quick  ! "  Celie  Tennant  cried,  with  the 
mosfc  charming  impetuosity,  seizing  them  each  by  a  hand 
and  dragging  them  forward  towards  the  brick  kitchen. 
"  We  have  found  it — at  least  Vara  has !  There's  millions 
of  gold — all  new  sovereigns  and  things.  And  I'm  to  be 
bridesmaid  ! " 

What  the  Junior  Partner  made  out  of  this  no  one  can 
tell ;  for  at  the  time  he  was  certainly  not  in  the  full  posses- 
sion of  his  senses.  But  Mr.  Tennant  was  well  used  to  his 
impetuous  daughter's  stormy  moods,  and  understood  that 
something  which  had  been  lost  was  at  last  found. 

Celie  imperiously  swept  them  along  with  her  into  the 
little  brick  building. 

"  Not  so  fast,  you  small  pocket  hurricane  !  "  cried  her 
father,  breathlessly.  "  At  my  time  of  life  I  really  cannot 
rush  along  like  an  American  trotter  !  " 

They  entered  the  kitchen.  Vara  was  standing  at  the 
table  at  which  Cleg  used  to  cut  the  bacon  for  the  Gen- 


386  CLEG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

eral's  breakfast  and  his  own.  She  was  calmly  opening 
tin  after  tin  of  Chicago  corned  beef,  cans  of  which  stood 
in  rows  round  the  walls.  Each  was  full  to  the  brim  of 
bright  newly  minted  sovereigns. 

"  It  is  Cleg's  money,"  cried  Celie  wildly,  "  and  I  found 
it  all  myself — or,  at  least.  Vara  did,  which  is  the  same 
thing.  There  were  just  two  tins,  one  at  each  end,  full  of 
real,  common,  nasty  beef  for  eating,  and  the  rest  are  all 
sovereigns.     And  I'm  to  be  bridesmaid." 

And,  though  a  Sunday  school  teacher  of  long  standing 
and  infinite  gravity,  the  little  lady  danced  a  certain  reck- 
less breakdown  which  she  had  learned  in  the  Knuckle 
Dusters'  Club  from  Cleaver's  boy. 

"Well,  Miss  Quicksilver,  you  had  better  go  and  tell 
him  !  "  said  her  father  ;  "  he  is  in  the  tower  yonder." 

Mr.  Donald  Iverach  was  starting  out  of  the  door  to  do 
it  himself ;  but  Celie  seized  him  tragically.  "  Father — 
Donald — how  can  you  ?  "  she  cried  more  in  sorrow  than  in 
anger  at  their  stupidity  and  ignorance.  "  Of  course,  let 
Iter  go  ! " 

And  Vara  went  out  of  the  door  to  seek  for  Cleg. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  it  was  me ! "  Celie  said  wistfully  and 
ungrammatically,  stamping  her  foot.  "  It's  so  splendidly 
romantic !  Donald,  why  didn't  you  make  it  turn  out  so 
that  I  could  have  come  and  said  to  you, '  I  have  a  secret. 
Hush  !  You  are  heir  to  a  hidden  treasure  ! '  You  never 
do  anything  really  nice  for  me  !  " 

"Why,  because  the  old  man  didn't  leave  it  to  me," 
said  the  Junior  Partner. 

"  And  a  good  job  for  you,  too,  you  great  goose,"  cried 
Celie,  daringly,  "  for  if  he  had  I  should  certainly  have 
made  love  to  Cleg,  and  we  would  have  set  up  a  market 
garden  together.  I  am  sure  I  should  have  liked  that  very 
much." 


CLEG'S  TREASURE-TROVE  COMES  TO  HIM.      387 

And  at  that  time  Vara  was  telling  Cleg  in  the  tower 
that  his  treasure  had  come  to  him  at  last. 
And  Cleg  was  sure  of  it. 


LETTER  IKCLOSED. 

{Being  a  fragment  from  the  postscript  of  a  note^  dated 
some  years  later ^  from  Mrs.  Donald  Iverach  to  the  Girl 
over  the  Wall — who  has  teen  her  dearest  friend  ever  since 
her  engagement  was  arinounced.) 

"  And  the  funny  thing  is  that,  after  all,  they  have  a 
market  garden  !  I've  just  been  to  see  them,  and  they  live 
in  the  loveliest  little  house  down  near  the  sea.  And  Cleg 
says  he  is  going  to  make  their  little  Donald  (called  after 
my  Incumbrance,  the  old  Dear)  a  market  gardener — 
'Fruits  in  their  Seasons,'  and  that  kind  of  thing,  you 
know.  And  I  think  it's  so  sensible  of  them.  For,  of 
course,  they  could  never  have  gone  into  society,  though 
she  is  certainly  most  charmingly  behaved.  But  Cleg  likes 
to  go  barefoot  about  the  garden  still,  and  you  know  that 
is  not  quite  usual.  Gavin  is  at  the  Academy,  and  is  dux 
of  his  class.  He  is  what  is  called  a  'gyte,'  which  is  a 
title  of  honour  there. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  ?  Cleaver's  boy  is  married, 
and  they  have  got  a  baby  also — not  so  lovely  as  its  father 
was,  but  the  sweetest  thing !  He  is  foreman  now,  and 
Janet  never  thinks  of  telling  a  fib,  even  to  afternoon  call- 
ers. Don't  you  think  that's  rather  much  ?  Oh,  I  forgot ! 
Her  uncle  came  in  while  I  was  there,  and  said  to  Mirren 
Douglas — that's  the  little  widow,  you  know,  who  lives 
with  Cleg  and  Vara — '  I  saw  Hugh  Kavannah  walking  to- 
day on  Princes  Street  with  little  Miss  Briggs ! '  But  I 
don't  think  there  can  be  anything  in  it — do  you  ?    For, 


388  ^^EG  KELLY,  ARAB  OF  THE  CITY. 

after  all,  she's  a  lady,  and  he  is  only  a  student.  Of  course, 
when  we  were  girls — but  then  this  is  so  different. 

"  Kit  Kennedy  has  just  been  matriculated  or  rusticated 
or  something.  Everybody  is  very  pleased.  He  is  going 
in  for  agriculture,  and  tells  Cleg  when  to  sow  his  straw- 
berry seed. 

"  And  the  man  who  used  to  be  Netherby  carrier  has 
come  to  take  their  stuff  to  market — so  nice  for  him.  And 
the  baby  is  the  prettiest  you  ever  saw.  But  you  should 
see  mine.  He  is  a  darling,  if  you  like.  He  has  four  teeth, 
and  I  am  quite  sure  he  tries  to  say  Papa  ! — though  Don- 
ald laughs,  and  says  it  is  only  wind  in  his  little . 

That  was  Donald  who  came  and  joggled  my  elbow.     He 

is  a  HORROR  ! 

"  And  just  think,  Cleg  Kelly  has  built,  and  Donald 
has  furnished,  the  most  wonderful  Club  in  the  South  Back 
of  the  Canongate.  It  was  opened  last  week.  Bailie  Hol- 
den — who  is  now  Lord  Provost,  and  a  very  good  one — 
opened  it.  But  Cleg  made  the  best  speech.  '  Mind,  you 
chaps,'  he  said — and  they  were  all  as  quiet  as  mice  when 
he  was  speaking — '  mind,  you  chaps,  if  I  hear  o'  ony  yiii 
o'  ye  making  a  disturbance,  or  as  muckle  as  spittin'  on  the 
floor — weel,  ye  ken  me  ! '" 


THE  END. 


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By  a.  CONAN  DOYLE. 

n^HE  EXPLOITS  OF  BRIGADIER  GERARD, 
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trated.    i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 
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some  of  his  Homeric  exploits  were  accomplished  under  the  personal  observation  of  the 
Emperor.     His  delightfully  romantic  career  included  an  oddly  characteristic  glimpse 
of  England,  and  his  adventures  ranged  from  the  battlefield  to  secret  service.     In  pic- 
turing the  experiences  of  his  fearless,  hard-fighting  and  hard-drinking  hero,  the  author 
of  "The  White  Company"  has   given   us   a  book  which  absorbs  the  interest  and 
quickens  the  pulse  of  every  reader. 

HTHE    STARK   MUNRO    LETTERS,     Being    a 

-*  Series  of  Twelve  Letters  written  by  Stark  Munro,  M.  B., 
to  his  friend  and  former  fellow-student,  Herbert  Swanborough, 
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don Star. 

**  Every  one  who  wants  a  hearty  laugh  must  make  acquaintance  with  Dr.  James 
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self  to  be  unknown." — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

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News, 

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OUND    THE   RED  ,LAMF,      Being  Facts  and 
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ford Times. 

*'  If  Mr.  A.  Conan  Doyle  had  not  already  placed  himself  in  the  front  rank  of  living 
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D.   APPLETON  &   CO/S   PUBLICATIONS. 

**A  better  book  than  *The  Prisoner  of  Zenda.' "— Z^«<ii7«  Queen. 

n^HE   CHRONICLES   OF  COUNT  ANTONIO. 
-*■        By  Anthony  Hope,  author  of  "  The  God  in  the  Car,"  **  The 
Prisoner  of  Zenda,"  etc.     With  photogravure  Frontispiece  by 
S.  W.  Van  Schaick.     Third  edition.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 
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at  the  recital  of  deeds  of  high  courage,  we  may  recommend  this  book.  .  .  .  The  chron- 
icle conveys  the  emotion  of  heroic  adventure,  and  is  picturesquely  written." — London 
Daily  News. 

"It  has  literary  merits  all  its  own,  of  a  deliberate  and  rather  deep  order.  ...  In 
point  of  execution  *  The  Chronicles  of  Count  Antonio  '  is  the  best  work  that  Mr.  Hope 
has  yet  done.  The  design  is  clearer,  the  workmanship  more  elaborate,  the  style  more 
colored.  .  .  .  The  incidents  are  most  ingenious,  they  are  told  quietly,  but  with  great 
cunning,  and  the  Quixotic  sentiment  which  pervades  it  all  is  exceedingly  pleasant." — 
Westminster  Gazette. 

'*  A  romance  worthy  of  all  the  expectations  raised  by  the  brilliancy  of  his  former 
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Telegraph. 

**  One  of  the  most  fascinating  romances  written  in  English  within  many  days.  The 
quaint  simplicity  of  its  style  is  delightful,  and  the  adventures  recorded  in  these  '  Chron- 
icles of  Count  Antonio '  are  as  stirring  and  ingenious  as  any  conceived  even  by  Wey- 
man  at  his  best." — New  York  World. 

"  Romance  of  the  real  flavor,  wholly  and  entirely  romance,  and  narrated  in  true  ro- 
mantic style.  The  characters,  drawn  with  such  masterly  handling,  are  not  merely  pic- 
tures and  portraits,  but  statues  that  are  alive  and  step  boldly  forward  from  the  canvas." 
— Boston  Courier, 

"  Told  in  a  wonderfully  simple  and  direct  style,  and  with  the  magic  touch  of  a  man 
who  has  the  genius  of  narrative,  making  the  varied  incidents  flow  naturally  and  rapidly 
in  a  stream  of  sparkling  discourse." — Detroit  Tribune. 

"  Easily  ranks  with,  if  not  above,  *  A  Prisoner  of  Zenda.'  .  .  .  Wonderfully  strong, 
graphic,  and  compels  the  interest  of  the  most  3/^j/ novel  reader." — Boston  Advertiser. 

**  No  adventures  were  ever  better  worth  telling  than  those  of  Count  Antonio.  .  .  . 
The  author  knows  full  well  how  to  make  every  pulse  thrill,  and  how  to  hold  his  readers 
under  the  spell  of  his  magic." — Boston  Herald. 

**  A  book  to  make  women  weep  proud  tears,  and  the  blood  of  men  to  tingle  with 
knightly  fervor.  ...  In  *  Count  Antonio  '  we  think  Mr.  Hope  surpasses  himself,  as  he 
has  already  surpaiised  all  the  other  story-tellers  of  the  period." — Neiv  York  Spirit  oj 
the  Times. 

New  York  :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO..  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


T 


D.   APPLETON  &   CO.'S   PUBLICATIONS. 


HE  ONE  WHO  LOOKED  ON.     By  F.  F.  Mon- 

TRESOR,  author  of  "  Into  the  Highways  and  Hedges."     i6mo. 

Cloth,  special  binding,  $1.25. 

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"An  exquisite  story.  .  .  .  No  person  sensitive  to  the  influence  of  what  makes  for  the 
true,  the  lovely,  aud  the  strong  in  human  friendship  and  the  real  in  life's  work  can  read 
this  book  without  being  benefited  by  it." — Btiffalo  Commercial. 

**  The  book  has  universal  interest  and  very  unusual  merit.  .  .  .  Aside  from  its 
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/CORRUPTION.     By  Percy  White,  author  of  "  Mr. 

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the  real  thing  itself." — London  Daily  News. 

**  A  drama  of  biting  intensity,  a  tragedy  of  inflexible  purpose  and  relentless  result," 
--Pall  Mall  Gazette. 


A 


HARD  WOMAN.    A  Story  in  Scenes.    By  Violet 
Hunt.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

**  An  extremely  clever  work.  Miss  Hunt  probably  writes  dialogue  better  than  any 
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sustained,  but  she  contrives  to  assign  to  each  of  her  characters  a  distinct  mode  of 
speech,  so  that  the  reader  easily  identifies  them,  and  can  follow  the  conversations  without 
the  slightest  ^\'SiCv\X.y ." —Lo7idon  Athenceum. 

"One  of  the  best  writers  of  dialogue  of  our  immediate  day.  The  conversations  in 
this  book  will  enhance  her  already  secure  reputation."— Z^«^6?«  Daily  Chrotiicle. 

**  A  creation  that  does  Miss  Hunt  infinite  credit,  and  places  her  In  the  front  rank  of 
the  younger  novelists.  .  .  .  Rrilllantly  drawn,  quivering  with  life,  adroit,  quiet-witted, 
unfalteringly  insolent,  and  widial  strangely  magnetic."— Z^«a'£?«  Standard. 


A 


N    IMAGINATIVE     MAN,       By    Robert     S. 

HiCHENS,  author  of  **  The  Green  Carnation."     i2mo.     Cloth, 

$1.25. 

**  One  of  the  brightest  books  of  the  year."— Boston  Budget. 

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tional story  of  love  and  marriage.  The  clever  hand  of  the  author  of  'The  Green 
Carnation '  is  easily  detected  in  the  caustic  wit  and  pointed  epigram." — Jeannette  L. 
Gilder,  in  the  New  York  World. 


New  York  :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


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TWO   REMARKABLE   AMERICAN   NOVELS. 

HE  RED  BADGE  OF  COURAGE.  An  Epi-- 
sode  of  the  American  Civil  War,  By  Stephen  Crane.  i2mo. 
Cloth,  $i.oo. 

*'Mr.  Stephen  Crane  is  a  great  artist,  with  something  new  to  say,  and  conse- 
quently with  a  new  way  of  saying  it.  .  .  .  In  'The  lied  Badge  of  Courage'  Mr. 
Crane  has  surely  contrived  a  masterpiece.  ...  He  has  painted  a  picture  that  chal- 
lenges comparisons  with  the  most  vivid  scenes  of  Tolstoy's  '  La  Guerre  et  la  Paix'  or 
of  Zola's  *  La  Debacle.'  " — London  New  Review. 

"In  its  whole  range  of  literature  we  can  call  to  mind  nothing  so  searching  in  its 
analysis,  so  manifestly  impressed  with  the  stamp  of  truth,  as  'The  Red  Badge  of 
Courage.'  ...  A  remarkable  study  of  the  average  mind  under  stress  of  battle.  .  .  . 
We  repeat,  a  really  fine  achievement." — London  Daily  Chronicle. 

"Not  merely  a  remarkable  book;  it  is  a  revelation.  .  .  .  One  feels  that,  with  per- 
haps one  or  two  exceptions,  all  previous  descriptions  of  modern  warfare  have  been  the 
merest  abstractions." — St.  Jatnes  Gazette. 

"Holds  one  irrevocably.  There  is  no  possibility  of  resistance  when  once  you  are 
in  its  grip,  from  the  first  of  the  march  of  the  troops  to  the  closing  scenes.  .  .  .  Mr. 
Crane,  we  repeat,  has  written  a  remarkable  book.  His  insight  and  his  power  of  realiza- 
tion amount  to  genius." — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"There  is  nothing  in  American  fiction  to  compare  with  it  in  the  vivid,  uncom- 
promising, almost  aggressive  vigor  with  which  it  depicts  the  strangely  mingled  condi- 
tions that  go  to  make  up  what  men  call  war.  .  .  .  Mr.  Crane  has  added  to  American 
literature  something  that  has  never  been  done  before,  and  that  is,  in  its  own  peculiar 
way,  inimitable." — Boston  Beacon. 

"Never  before  have  we  had  the  seamy  side  of  glorious  war  so  well  depicted.  .  .  . 
The  action  of  the  story  throughout  is  splendid,  and  all  aglow  with  color,  movement, 
and  vim.  The  style  is  as  keen  and  bright  as  a  sword-blade,  and  a  Kipling  has  done 
nothing  better  in  this  line." — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

/N  DEFIANCE  OF  THE  KING.  A  Romance  of 
the  American  Revolution.  By  Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss. 
i2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  The  whole  story  is  so  completely  absorbing  that  you  will  sit  far  into  the  night  to 
finish  it.  You  lay  it  aside  with  the  feeling  that  you  have  seen  a  gloriously  true  picture 
of  the  Revolution." — Bostoji  Herald. 

"  The  story  is  a  strong  one— a  thrilling  one.  It  causes  the  true  American  to  flush 
with  excitement,  to  devour  chapter  after  chapter  until  the  eyes  smart ;  and  it  fairly 
smokes  with  patriotism." — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

"  The  heart  beats  quickly,  and  we  feel  ourselves  taking  part  in  the  scenes  described. 
,  .  .  Altogether  the  book  is  an  addition  to  American  literature."— CA/ca^^j  Evening 
Post. 

"One  of  the  most  readable  novels  of  the  year.  .  .  .  As  a  love  romance  it  is  charm- 
ing, while  it  is  filled  with  thrilling  adventure  and  deeds  of  patriotic  daring." — Boston 
Advertiser. 

**  This  romance  seems  to  come  the  nearest  to  a  satisfactory  treatment  in  fiction  of 
the  Revolutionary  period  that  we  have  yet  had." — Bi/J/alo  Courier. 

"A  clean,  wholesome  story,  full  of  romance  and  interesting  adventure.  .  .  .  Holds 
the  interest  alike  by  the  thread  of  the  story  and  by  the  incidents.  .  .  .  A  remarkably 
well-balanced  and  absorbing  novel." — Milwaukee  yournal. 


New  York  :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


//,/) 


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ii 


